Italian Pure
by Broadway
Summary: AU: X-Men as vampires. Woah.
1. Default Chapter

  
"Ah, yes. This is most certainly the life, wouldn't you say?" Benjamin Scots Wellington, known by only his close confidants as Scott, flopped down on the plush velvet upholstery of the sitting chair placed in the almost direct center of the Victorian hotel room. Serene candles were placed in all corners of the room, close to the ceiling, and oil lamps on every mahogany side table, flickering dimly in all of their weak glory as they bathed every sofa, desk, and footstool in a golden glow.   
  
Rebecca entered from the powder room, tugging her black silk gloves over her wrists and off of every individual slender finger, finally placing them down on the writing desk near the bedroom's entrance. "Oh mah, yes it is very nice." She agreed, her dulcet accent dripping thicker than honey in awe. This vacation to Rome was going to be a wonderful one, indeed. Heaven knows she needed one, and when her daddy-spoiled best of friends, Scott, offered she escort him to the dazzling city, she was only too happy to oblige.   
  
"Hurry and dress, Rebecca. I'm eager to taste what this city has to offer." Scott sat up.  
  
"Taste what the city has to offer, or the women?" She smirked playfully, heading back into the bedroom.  
  
"Now is that any way to treat the man that's making this all possible?"  
  
She spun around but continued her pursuit into the room. "You, sir, are not the one making this possible. Xavier Wellington is making this all possible."  
  
"Ugh, I'm hurt. My father had nothing to do with it! I suggested we get away from New York, I suggested we go to Italy, I suggested we stay at this," he gestured with a hand to the ravishing hotel, "highly acclaimed,"  
  
"Highly expensive," Rebecca added.  
  
"Highly expensive suite. But ah," he inhaled deeply, savoring the room's smell of lingering fine wine, "isn't it all you've ever dreamed of?"  
  
She glanced over the room. "Almost. If a tall, dark, and handsome were standing right over there, it'd be everything I've ever dreamed of." Rogue nodded definitely, flipping a hand out to the open balcony, supported with ivory pillars and adorned with fine white silk curtains billowing in the night breeze, gentle as a baby's coo.   
  
Scott sighed and idly made his way out of the window and past the flailing curtains until he stood outside on the balcony, peering down in awe at the tiny little yellow and white specks- the city of Rome creating a twinkling light show seemingly reserved for his viewing only, on top of the world standing on that balcony. "Wow," he said slowly, "You've got to see this Rebecca." He waved her over and she was soon standing beside him, the lights making her feel as if she was viewing the stars from above them instead of below this time. She took a quick intake of breath and turned to her best friend.   
  
"Mah, aren't they beautiful?" She exclaimed. Scott nodded, tearing his eyes from the sight and turning, leaning against the broad stone railing.   
  
"Hurry and dress, darling."  
  
She nodded and took one last lingering look at the spectacular sight before scurrying back into the hotel room to dress.  
  
Sitting in front of the vanity, applying the last of her make-up as she powdered her nose softly, Rebecca grew more excited with every second that raced by. Could this be the night?  
  
Ever since she accepted Cody Dean's proposal, an overwhelming sense of wasted time swelled within her. Marriage? It was so final, and yet it was well past time. Still, she decided she needed one thing, one magical, unforgettable night with one magical, unforgettable man before she chained herself to the respectable, but not exactly exciting Cody Dean. Needless to say, there was a serious drought of men that fit this position in Westchester County. There was always Scott, everyone in town knew he'd been the magical, unforgettable man for quite a number of young, naïve women, but Rebecca could never see herself with him. They'd been best friends since grade school when he used to put worms in her hair and make her cry and his had been like a second family to her, particularly the extremely wealthy, and extremely generous Xavier Wellington. He was always bailing his spoiled son out of trouble when Scott did something stupid like set Mr. Essex' barn on fire three summers ago.   
  
Rebecca giggled at the memory as she reapplied her already drying lipstick. But almost as quickly as the touch of humor had come, it faded. Scott would never have to worry about life. Next year, even, he graduated from the University and became a professor there, just like his father. And where would she be? Stuck in a house, albeit probably a nice house, but trapped washing dishes and ironing for her... husband, Cody. Yes, Cody would soon be her husband.   
  
She shook her head, a few disobedient strands of russet coupled with a shock of snow falling from their pinned position atop her head. No use worrying about it. Tonight, hopefully, she would meet a man that would leave her never wanting again and she could move on with her life, marry, have children, settle, settle.  
  
**  
  
"This is wonderful!" Rebecca said with wide eyes, taking the sight in. The party took place right on the street, not like those boring parties her mother often "encouraged" her to attend in hopes of finding her a husband, infested with old, balding millionaires within the walls of a stuffy Victorian mansion. No, this party was different, new, exciting. Rebecca's heart swelled with anticipation for the night ahead, the whole vacation ahead of her. She would have no problem finding a man to whisk her away from her sheltered life in breath-takingly exciting Westchester New York. 'Yeah, right,' she thought dryly.  
  
Scott turned to look down at her from his place on her left arm. "Isn't it? I can already see a plentiful selection of eligible women." He grinned down at her. Rebecca simply rolled her eyes, something she trained her self to do in the presence of none other than her best friend. He didn't fool her. Scott had been with many a woman in his day, but she knew he was growing out of his stallion adolescent stage and wanted nothing more at this point than a woman to settle down with, someone to call his bride.   
  
Though she would never let it past her lips, she somewhat envied him- his insatiable desire to tie down. Who WANTED to tie down? Of course he hadn't when they were younger. Like all of the other town boys, he had only one thing on his mind for a short period: what lied between a woman's thighs, but she always knew a time would come when he would no longer want a night, he'd want the rest of his life. Lo and behold, that time had come, eliciting a twinge of pride from Rebecca toward her dear friend.  
  
'And when will your time come?'  
  
She shoved depressing thoughts to the corners of her mind and concentrated on the men at the parties occurring on the streets.   
  
Nonchalantly, Scott and her broke apart from one another, a custom they were used to once arriving in public so nobody assumed they were 'together.' He stole a quick kiss on her cheek and they warned each other to behave before parting. Rebecca watched him immediately aim for a blonde he had previously been eyeing and disappear into the crowds. Slowly, she too made her way into the dancing. Tentative at first, she felt a slight bit out of place. Only a scant few wore clothing similar to hers: a bodice cut dress, obviously English complete with lace trim on the short sleeves. Both expensive and fashionable yes, but an apparent awkward choice of apparel when surrounded by Gypsies and native Italians with their flowing skirts and excessive gold jewelry that dangled from parts of their shapely bodies that Rebecca wasn't even aware you COULD dangle jewelry from.  
  
Still, many men approached her and asked if she'd like to dance and it wasn't long until she was dancing on stars, the electricity of magic simply swirling around her in an eddy of twinkling lights with every fluid move she made in another man's arms. She spun from one to another, one to another, each trying desperately to hold her close, or not too tight, or gently, or savagely, all trying to get her to stay with them the longest. But she didn't want to stay with one, she wanted to dance everywhere, forever, twirling and spinning with her eyes closed, letting the enchanting music spellbind her. Suddenly, she was in the arms of a man that held her close but not in a way that she didn't approve. It was romantic and uncaring all at once, casual and complete. He pressed her against his strong body and she unconsciously placed her hands first on his chest, then his shoulders, wanting to hold all of him at once. Finally, she glanced from where she had been gazing up at the constellations down to the man with whom she was dancing, if it could even be classified as such.   
  
She took a sharp intake of breath. He was mysterious and intriguing all at once. His eyes were a fathomless garnet set against an onyx background, boring past your soul where some people's eyes could indeed enter, but to your dreams, where not a soul but this man had a right. Rebecca swore those eyes were related in some way to the stars adorning the black velvet sky behind him.  
  
Before she could even ask for his name, he maneuvered out of her hold and to the next woman eagerly awaiting his arms. Men flocked to fill his now vacant position, but Rebecca denied them, still staring after the man until the crowd and dusk swallowed him whole.   
  
**  
  
Rebecca found Scott around one a.m., sitting at a table for two outside in front of a quaint Italian restaurant, sipping a bottle of chardonnay and still chatting with the attractive blonde he had victimized earlier in the night. They laughed together when Rebecca approached behind the woman.  
  
Scott noticed his friend signaling behind the woman that she was heading home. She obviously didn't want to interrupt the couple, so she opted to communicate from behind the blonde. Scott nodded to Rebecca and then to his companion to make it look as if he was agreeing with whatever she was saying. Rebecca nodded in finality and headed back to their apartment.  
  
**  
  
Scott Wellington knocked on Rebecca's bedroom door. "Come in," she called from inside.  
  
He gained entrance and seated him self on her bed as she completed the last stroke through her long hair the color of autumn's glory with her silver plaited brush.  
  
"How was your night?" He asked, pressing his palms over his eyelids, covering his caramel colored eyes.   
  
"It was...wonderful." She replied, rising from her stool and performing a dramatic twirl. He nodded. "And yours?"   
  
"Mine was nice, too. I met a woman." He said the last part slowly, as if deciding on something.  
  
"Oh I saw her! She was a porcelain doll, Scott, simply porcelain." She said certainly.  
  
He grinned, blushing a bit in the process. "Yeah, I guess she's great, huh? Her name is Emma. She's really something."  
  
"Oh no, mister. You can't fall in love on the first night!"  
  
He sat up defiantly. "I tried not to! I really did, but she's amazing. And educated, ever so educated Rebecca, dear. She's studied both French and Latin and the highest math score."  
  
Rebecca sighed. "A potential bride even?"  
  
Scott looked down from where he was staring at the ceiling and thought a moment. "I'm not sure, perhaps." I hope so, he thought, and got up to leave.  
  
**  
  
Two nights passed, both consumed with nothing but wine and dance and the diamond-colored light that the moon poured forth from her spherical body- fully contempt with her sister Sun owning the day, but night time was hers to bask in all her shimmering glory. Scott, despite his attempts not to fall so hard so fast, spent the majority of his time with Emma Childs. She, too, was an English woman, eagerly awaiting a chance to jump at so that she may make a gentleman a proper bride. Scott grew fonder of her at every passing moment; she enthralled him with her witty intellect and soft-spoken but prominent opinions on the president, the situation with India, and the factories.   
  
Rebecca, too, was having the time of her life. Though more than a scant amount of men had offered, she had yet to stain her purity. She told her self that they were not what she was looking for, perhaps the time wasn't right, something, anything, but her reason was definitely, absolutely, positively NOT that she was waiting for any particular man, like that stunning fellow with the engulfing eyes and beg-worthy touch. It was not that at all, no matter what her heart told her.   
  
So why did she find her self no longer entertained with the street parties anymore? Ah yes, because HE was no longer to be seen at them. Rebecca opted to explore a charming cobblestone back-road, tiny little homes settled in by children playing and lover's quarrelling lining the road like ancient soldiers. She could just make out the wild clover and other various flowers sprouting defiantly in every which way from the houses' unkempt gardens with the last of the sun dipping behind the horizon. Rebecca decided that they wouldn't look half as nice if someone had actually trimmed the gardens; they were just marvelously beautiful when they grew wild.  
  
So caught up was she in the gardens that she hadn't noticed the man before her until she was merely inches from him, in danger of colliding with him. "Oh!" She said, taken aback in surprise.  
  
"Woah there," a man said, grasping onto her shoulders to support her. She nearly sank in his embrace when she realized who it was.   
  
"Oh mah, it's you." She said, blushing at the absurdity of the moment. "Ah mean, thank you." She recovered.  
  
"Not a problem. We've met before?" The man with the burning embers he called eyes asked.  
  
"We danced a few nights ago," she replied.   
  
He smiled. "Oh my father." He paused, leaving her to wonder for a brief second. "How could I forget?" He reached for her hand and kiss the back, sending sensations coursing through her body. "You were all I thought of for the rest of the night."  
  
Rebecca smirked. "Oh really? Then why did you leave me?"  
  
"I had to be somewhere," he said simply. "I am truly sorry, though." He knelt before her on the gray, crooked cobblestones, a passing Gypsy couple hardly taking notice for more than a moment. Rebecca blushed. "Please forgive me." He pressed her hand to his heart- it was racing. "Please forgive me." He repeated, this time in a throaty purr that sent her almost kneeling beside him.   
  
She nodded both weakly and faintly amused. This man had power; she didn't know what, but it was power. He rose from his ridiculous position on his knees. "Oh thank you. I really don't know what I was thinking. You are so...beautiful," he breathed as if in awe at her presence. She shifted her weight, unsure of how to respond. He was everything right now...he was romantic. Romance- it was like something only in novels to her until now. Now she was living it, this was her tall, dark, and handsome. She wanted to dance with him in the rain.  
  
But she couldn't even bring her self to let him into her suite. He had offered to walk her home, she eagerly accepted, but when they stood at her door, she could not bring her hand to open it for him. He waited there, stunning smile spread across his beautiful features, but she could not.   
  
Though she hadn't said a word, he nodded knowingly, slowly backing away and retreating back down the stone steps to her building. "I understand, beautiful one. Another time." Rebecca couldn't believe it.   
  
"Yah're mad." She said a bit more accusingly than intended.   
  
He shook his head and grinned. "No, far from it. I'm impressed. You earned a tremendous amount of respect from me tonight. I only hope for the opportunity to return it." He waited at the bottom of the stairs, staring up expectantly. Rebecca could not believe it. She had blatantly denied him access into her home and he still persisted.   
  
"Ah would love to see you again," was all she could say. He nodded, grateful, and began strolling away down the cobblestone street, the ever-watching moon seeping her rays between the stones' cracks.  
  
**  
So early in the morning, when the sun still slept under the ground and the stars still reigned, a gilded mansion's candlelight glowed brightly through the cracks of the balcony and glass window frames. The manor's roof was half collapsing, with wild ivy and various flowers intertwining with the gaping holes. A stone fountain, guarded by a sad-faced, round-cheeked cherub protruding atop it, stood in the center of the front yard, consumed with over grown grass and wild flowers. The whole setting was both elegant and hauntingly beautiful at once. And inside, perhaps a dozen beautiful women wandered the three floors, all doing something of their own interest until it was time to resettle since the sun was sure to peek the horizon very soon. Sunlight was wicked. Though the number of women was undeterminable, the count of men was definite: four. Four men occupied the house, one acting as leader to everyone in it. The leader: a man with burning red eyes.  
  
Remy LeBeau was fascinated, extremely fascinated. The woman, he had been sure, would be writhing elatedly under him, begging him for more by the end of the night. But she was not. She was at home, sleeping soundly and peacefully, undisturbed in her slumber. Remy smiled at the thought. A woman, cream-color skinned and devastatingly beautiful, had refused him; she'd resisted, bless her heart. She was pure- Remy knew that instantly the night he'd danced with her. And she was yearning for a man, but not a man to be with forever, just a man to remember forever.   
  
All this he had gathered, but still she had politely declined his silent offer to spend the night. At first he was shocked, but shock melted into profound respect. This woman was strong, and it delighted him, aroused him, interested him. He wanted to know her, to bend her and break her- to have her on his knees for him like the others. She would be fun indeed. But it would take time. The woman was intelligent, she obviously had been trained English, for she very well knew better than to fall into just anyone's arms. Her instinct stopped her, though she craved it. He knew. He knew she wanted it, wanted him.  
'Yes it won't be long, Rebecca,' Remy thought.   
  
Remy buried the back of his head into the sitting chair, taking a sip of fine red wine from his goblet adorned with emeralds. One of the heavy oak, double-doors clicked open and a woman swooped in, half walking, half floating on the very air beneath her, an unannounced breeze somehow swirling around her, mussing the wild red mane of hair that cascaded in curls and waves to just below the center of her back. She stood before him, eyes permanently ablaze with a passion bonded into her very soul, a passion for life and love and lust.   
  
"You rang." She said, a smile creeping across her dangerously scarlet lips. Remy noticed the slight flush of rose that kissed her cheeks and bridge of her nose.   
  
"Your color is well. Where have you been?"  
  
She grinned, running a pink tongue across her stark, two-curiously pointed white teeth. "The men in Florence are fabulous, Remy."  
  
He scoffed, taking another sip of his wine. "You must do something for me, Jean."  
  
"Anything." She said. He hesitated. She continued, sensing his thoughts. "A woman." She said simply.  
  
His head shot up, daring her to go further, but he did not frighten her, though he was very capable of ending her life... again. He nodded, slowly. "Yes. A woman unlike any other." He paused, again prompting Jean to pry the essence of his tightly guarded thoughts.   
  
"A woman refused you? I don't believe it." A twinge of amusement laced her voice.  
  
"Nor could I. She was... beautiful. Her soul begged me to take her, but she refused. I could not get past the front door. She has made her self a conquest for me to dominate now." He turned to the woman. "And she has a friend."  
  
She nodded. " A man," she stated, already knowing.  
  
"A man," he confirmed. "Do not take him, do you understand? Do NOT create him into what we are, but possess him. Consume his mind with thoughts of none other than you. I am positive that she will be much easier to initiate if he has clung him self to you."  
  
" I understand. You wish to lure this woman through her friend, whom I will be seducing. You believe that if he has devoted him self to me and our guild, she will have no choice but to do so as well." She stopped. "Is that correct, master?" She didn't usually address Remy as such, but sometimes she was benevolent and let him know through settle hints that she remembered whom she had to thank for being what she was: immortal, eternal, beautiful. Unlike the others in their guild, she did not have to kneel in his presence or always call him master, but just sometimes, she did.   
  
No one was entirely sure why their master, Remy, had favored Jean. They were not in love, or even lust, but certain things he allowed her and no one else. She wasn't his first kill, or even his first woman, but he had taken a liking to her for some reason unbeknownst to anyone. Perhaps because she was smart. Most of the other women in the guild were brainless shells, good for nothing but satisfying the four men in The Circle and luring fresh blood. They were a mere step higher than the common Italian whore, but Jean and a select few of others were not. She had tactics, suave, wit. Remy respected her as well, which was saying a lot for a man who respected little.  
  
"She must be something special, to go through this much trouble." Jean said playfully, wrenching Remy from his thoughts of Jean and focusing them on the green-eyed angel he was soon to stain.   
  
"I just want to take my time with this one, do it right. I want her to be a permanent addition."  
  
Jean raised her eyebrows at this. "An addition? She would be the first in almost thirty years."  
  
He gave her a look of knowing. "Thank you, I had no idea."  
  
Jean sneered at his sarcastic remark, not amused in the least. "Well you need to be concentrating on..."  
  
"Don't even say it." Remy broke in. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying to drain some of the tension behind them. The fifth, the fifth, I know the fifth, he thought. The Circle, his tight group of men that worked with him for the past centuries, originally had five members. But the fifth was caught making love to Remy's wife, Belladonna, and therefore they were both tied to The Pole immediately the next morning. The pole was an ugly, wooden spike protruding six feet up from where it was drilled into the ground. It stood hidden behind the wild flowers in back of the Guild Mansion, positioned directly under the beating sunlight.   
  
Rarely was anyone seen walking by it for leisure purposes. It reminded them that if it could happen to as close a friend as Jean-Luc was to Remy, it could happen to anyone of them. It was always there, towering above all mockingly, warning, waiting for them. Their pleading screams can still be heard sometimes at night, when crickets even cease to shrill. All through the night, they begged and screamed, the very sounds of both her and his shameless tears splashing to the ground in thunderous ker-plinks. But from their coffins, Remy and his Circle and all of the women could almost hear the sunrise, and the screams of pleading-turned-pain that soon followed. It was a sound that echoed through their ears to this day.  
  
But that was decades ago, and now, The Circle weakened without a fifth, someone to fill Jean-Luc's position. Remy did not want to think of that now, though. Instead, he turned his thoughts once more to his latest project, a curvaceous English one pure as the driven snow, but not for long....  
  
  
MY NOTES*  
Trust me, it gets better. Not one of those corny, eternal kiss of death things.   
  
  
  



	2. Purple Orchids

Benjamin Scots Wellington positively beamed with joy on his walk home. O, life was marvelous, simply marvelous. Of all places, Italy would be the last place he would have thought, but there she'd been, lovely as you please, an English lily amongst the wild purple Italian orchids. Emma, Emma, Emma. The pronunciation of her name pursing his lips together in a slow, purposeful "mmm." Scott kicked absently at a small pebble on the street he traveled homeward, the night's chill and voracious glares of the passing Gypsy men caused the wealthy Englishman to quicken his step. Charming, she was positively charming. When he first saw her- the glisten of her high cheekbones, the robin's egg blue of her pale eyes, the velvet sheer to her blonde curls- he knew it was love. This was what he'd waited for all this time. And soon, very soon, it would be him, on his own, no longer nibbling the silver spoon his father had provided him since birth. It would Be Scott, making his own decisions, living his own life with his own wife and his own family, working a respectable profession at the University.   
  
His entire life had been planned for quite some time now and finally, he'd found the missing piece- a wife, Emma.  
  
Upon approaching the stone building that was his hotel, Scott heard the faint chimes of... bells? He turned the corner and his breath caught in his throat. A woman stood barefoot on the street corner swaying to the rhythm she created patting against her gold tambourine. The street was completely void so she certainly wasn't dancing for the occasional benevolent coin tossed a Gypsy's way every so often, especially Gypsies as beautiful as this one. And God was she beautiful. For a moment Scott saw nothing but the sensual rock of her body or the way her scarlet cables of hair swung behind her with every graceful spin and enthralling twirl in the single ray of moonlight gracing none but her form.  
  
Unconsciously, Scott stumbled toward her, a look of desperate possession brewing behind his eyes. She caught his eyes and paused in her ministrations on the instrument, leaving the empty road silent and making Scott stop, embarrassed and snapped back to his senses. Silence still until she brought her shoulders up and laughed out loud, the sound piercing the quiet street and echoing off of every stone building.   
  
Unsure what else to do, Scott stood motionless while she approached him, one barefoot in front of the other and slapping against the dew-slick cobblestones. She stopped only inches from him, flung the tambourine on the ground beside her and brought her hands to his cheeks, chapped rosy from the night chill.   
  
Scott's heart pounded against his chest as the woman leaned in to graze her lips against his slack, indignant mouth. Her warm breath against him slowly drove him wild with anticipation and he tentatively placed his hands on her hips, yet her lips continued to only brush against his, starving him of the overpowering hunger to press his mouth hard against hers and taste her fully instead of the hint of sweet cinnamon she teased him with now. Desire for the tantalizing creature overrode all other thoughts of dignity and poise and Emma and he lunged his mouth forward to engage her in a full and fervent kiss, but she had tipped her head back just in time as if sensing his intentions, leaving Scott to plant his kiss on her milky neck. Settling for the salty-sweet taste of her skin and the warm feel of her collarbone against his chin, he continued adorning her neck with wet, ardent kisses. A part of him screamed that what they were doing was wrong; what would Emma say? What was he doing with this unknown woman, in the middle of the street no less? This voice of reason was quickly silenced by the feel of her manicured fingernails trailing across his scalp. Chills embraced his spine and he moved his hands to the small of her back to bring her closer. It wasn't enough. He needed to kiss her, kiss her mouth. He laced his fingers in her thick curls that draped across her back and tried to guide her face to meet his but she continued to dodge.   
  
Finally, she stepped away from him and slipped her hands from his face down to his wrists. Cradling his right hand in both of hers, she led him up the stairs of his hotel and through the entrance doors. Scott didn't concern himself with how she knew which apartment building was his. As they climbed the flight of narrow wooden stairs leading to his suite, a realization dawned on the young man. Of course, how could he be so foolish? Had his father not warned him of them?  
  
She was obviously one of the numerous beautiful Italian whores Xavier told Scott to beware of. "They're simply bewitching, and you wont know what happened or will refuse to acknowledge it until she wakes up between your bed sheets."   
  
They reached the heavy mahogany door with the numbers 214 carved in the center. Scott briefly contemplated turning away the woman but one look at her- flushed bronzed cheeks and heaving chest, clad in form-fitting silk rags tied in just a way that gave a man a peek right up to her smooth rounded thigh- quickly decided for him. He opened the door.   
  
She sauntered in and took a good look around as Scott closed the door behind him and tossed the key on a convenient table.   
  
She turned to face him and smiled, displaying perfect white teeth in stark contrast to her wine-colored pout. "Are we alone?"  
  
Scott shuffled through the two bedrooms of the suite then met the redhead back in the den. "Yes, we're alone."  
  
She sprawled on the silk upholstery of the couch, resting her arms luxuriously above her head, watching Scott watch her with undivided attention as if he were contemplating painting her portrait. "Do you live here alone?"  
  
He shook his head, his eyes never leaving her bodacious form. "No, my best friend Rebecca is here with me on vacation."  
  
"Vacation?" Her russet eyebrows quirked.  
  
"Yes, we live in-"  
  
"Don't tell me. New York."   
  
He smiled. "Right. How did you know?"  
  
She shifted her position, trailing a hand across her abdomen. Scott was entranced. "No offense, but you New York men are very similar. Tell me about Rebecca was it?"  
  
"Uh-huh," he snapped his jaw closed. "Yes, Rebecca. Not much to tell, we've been best friends for years and she's getting married in the spring."  
  
"Married? Really, to whom?"   
  
"A man named Cody Dean. He's... respectable." Scott grew slightly impatient with the interrogation as he watched the stunning woman lightly caress her skin every so often to keep him answering. Who knew whores got so personal? Scott scolded himself for that last thought. What kind of thing was that for a gentlemen to say?  
  
"Cody," she purred. "Does he live in New York as well?"  
  
Scott nodded slowly. Suddenly, a burst of morality had exploded within him. What in heaven's name was he doing? About to lay with a common whore after he assured his father time and again he would not, betraying anything he'd built with Emma for one night of glory?   
  
Again, as if reading his thoughts, the woman stood to tease him a little more to assure Scott came coming back for more, and damn all, Scott had all but swallowed the bait whole. As before, she approached him until their chests touched and their hearts beat in sync against each other, but this time, she slipped fingers through his brunette strands and pulled him in to employ a kiss on his accepting mouth.   
  
He swallowed hungrily, placing his palms flat on her cheeks to deepen the kiss. It lasted for several blissful moments and when it broke, Scott's curiosity got the best of him. He muttered, "Shall I pay you now or after," because he honestly did not know, being a complete novice to the world of prostitution. He still wasn't exactly keen on the idea but the woman just kept luring him back like the stunning demon his father said they would be.  
  
The woman pulled away from the contact and stared at him with big curious eyes. "What?"  
  
Scott swallowed. "I mean, you are a... you know... aren't you?"  
  
Her cheeks rose into a captivating smile and she shook her head. "Shhh," she whispered, bringing his hands to her lips and slipping a few fingertips in her mouth. "Shh," she whispered again, and somehow the oil lamps dimmed but he concentrated on nothing but the warm, wet hollow of her mouth. When he was drowsy with desire, the woman pressed her lips to his ear and said she had to go.  
  
"When will I see you again?" He mumbled as she coasted him back onto his couch.   
  
"I'll come back." She replied, and slipped out of the hotel room and he slept.   
  
  
**  
  
Remy tapped his cigarette against his windowsill impatiently as the young girl moaned incoherently in his bed. He cast an idle glance at her gripping his black satin sheets to her bare chest. Not two hours ago the girl had screamed for help and then demanded that he release her once he'd successfully lured her into his mansion. Now she lay writhing elatedly in his bed, begging that Remy return to his bed and make love to her again.   
  
Remy extinguished his cigarette. His half open window sent a gust of whirling wind inside of his room and with it, the alluring Jean Grey. The young girl hardly took notice, too enraptured was she in the recent feel or Remy's hands and mouth roaming across her body, violating every untouched spot of her skin.   
  
"Jean," Remy said simply. "Finally."  
  
"I'm sorry to keep you waiting for so long, but the man was..." she smiled at the thought of the poor boy, "adorable."  
  
He nodded. "What did he say?"  
  
Jean mosied over to Remy's bed and noticed the girl with her long honey-colored tresses falling across her soft shoulders. She knelt beside her in his bed and peered deep into her eyes as she spoke to Remy.  
  
"It seems your beautiful maiden is engaged to an Englishman." Jean petted the girl's hair and leaned down to bestow a small kiss on her forehead. The girl tensed under the embrace, suddenly very aware of her dangerous surroundings. She attempted to sit up, but the older woman shoved her down with an iron force unexpected in the frail form of Jean. The girl yelped while Jean continued to speak with Remy, her tone cool as ever. "He lives in New York."   
  
"Let me go!" The girl creeched, struggling against Jean's hands then bursting into sobs. Jean cradled her head against her breast, whispering soothing things in the girl's hair.  
  
Remy, uncaring of the situation, nodded. "New York, eh?"   
  
Jean nodded above the young woman's head, then bowed down to comfort the girl once more. She looked up into Jean's black eyes specked with silver and suppressed a gasp of awe. "Are you... an... an angel?" She breathed.  
  
Jean nodded, "Yes love. That's exactly what I am." Jean snaked her hands from the girl's jaw to her neck and applied heavy pressure, the girl's small hands quickly covering Jean's in a weak attempt to pry the redhead off. Remy lit another cigarette and watched with mild amusement but mostly impatience as Jean robbed the girl of her life. She tipped her head back in ecstasy as the girl turned various shades of blue until finally her delicate hands fell to her sides and her sea blue eyes rolled into her head. Jean let out a cry of joy and slowly descended from her high. She stared down at the girl and planted one final kiss on the girl's lips before she descended through heaven's immortal gates.  
  
"Anyways," she said back at Remy, "he lives in New York; Rebecca and Scott are vacationing."  
  
Remy removed the corpse from his bed with one strong shove and leaned back against his headboard. "New York- I suggest you get a move on, then."  
  
A wicked smile spread across Jean's beautiful features. "You spoil me, master." And she was out through his window and crossing an ocean before he even had time to cast a cursory glance in her direction.  
  
  
  
AUTHOR: Okay, I know it's not much, and some of you are probably like, Hey! Where the jack is Rogue? But don't worry, she's a key character, too, but this chapter didn't exactly call for her. Fear not, several more characters will be introduced and some even... eliminated. 


	3. Problem Elimination

A musty stench permeated the room enclosed by thick stonewalls and cold as Reaper's long bony digits. The space was surrounded by several coiling passages that all led to one common center- the heart of the Guild Mansion- the Assembly Room. It was a small circle of area with nothing but hard rocky earth for a floor, so unlike the plush Persian carpets that covered every other room of the mansion wall to wall. A single oil lamp swung above the direct center of the room, illuminating only the round stone table positioned under it and leaving the rest of the room engulfed in brown, flickering shadows.   
  
Three men sat at the Table of Summit, as it was commonly referred to. The first, with an imperious manner in the very air he sucked, sat Remy, his emblazoned eyes scanning the black gaping darkness that surrounded the table, his ears pricked to sense even the slightest shifts of air; he waited.   
  
The second, a young man, attractive in his own right, with fair hair and playful blue eyes that belied the horror he'd seen, or committed, in his years upon years of living. He sat slightly slouched to his left, elbow perched on arm-rest, chin propped in hand, half-smirking, half-feigning annoyance. Robert Drake. If one could say nothing about him they could at least say this- he always embraced life to the fullest and lived every moment of eternity as if it were his own personal joyride.  
  
The third man- Robert's exact opposite. His broad physique screamed nothing but brute strength and his eyes swore a sympathy as hollow as his conscience. Here was a man that did not hide his bloodstained hands behind his back; no, he laid them on the table for all to see and dared a soul to question them- to question him. Logan. And nothing more needed to be said about him.   
  
A door flung open and gained a man entrance. He was a tall man with a wide chest and a finely trimmed beard and mustache. His almond colored hair was pulled back in a neat tie and he wore a ruffled white button-down under a crushed velvet vest, plum colored. He was a box painted gold- his easy smiles and bright eyes effortlessly attracting the human eye, but proving to contain nothing but deceit and deceit. Perhaps the most evil of them all, he got a thrill out of breaking hearts as well as necks, which is why he was notorious for building a relationship with his victims before plunging his fangs into the down of their neck. Jason. Deceit.  
  
"So sorry I'm late," he apologized, his chair dragging into the dirt as he slid it into the table.   
  
Remy settled his eyes on him for a brief moment before turning to the whole of his Circle. They were his brothers in all except blood; bounded together behind the bars of forever- the last men of their kind. The leaders.  
  
These meeting were held with every eclipse of the moon and were really just mandatory check-ups to see how the Guild carried on. Any recent deaths in the Guild? Yes, one girl, staked through the heart twenty miles south on a country field. How was this handled?  
  
"I handled it," Logan said smoothly, and no one doubted it.  
  
More trivial chatter and right before adjournment: "Ah, Remy, haven't happened to select a fifth yet, have you? I ask because I know a man who displays definite qualities-"  
  
"Leave the fifth to me," Remy interrupted coolly, settling back in his chair. Four sets of eyes glumly settled on the fifth chair, sitting vacant between Robert and Logan. After decades of neglect, it had collected dust; cobwebs blanketed the arms and seat. "Leave the fifth to me," he repeated quietly and rose to leave. Jason jerked his chin, indignant.  
  
  
He entered his personal sitting room where embers from a previous fire sputtered feebly in his mantle. He picked at the fireplace and soon flames rose to dance for him. Without turning to speak to her, he asked Jean if she had eliminated Mr. Dean. A sinister smile crept across her face. Indeed she had.  
  
"Why so... involved with this one, Remy?" Jean asked after a short silence from where she leaned against his windowsill, sheer white curtains billowing around her. "Why not just drink her pure blood now and get it done with?"  
  
"Because, Jean," and at this Remy turned to regard her. "You see the women that scurry about our home like mindless vessels, interested in nothing but the satisfaction of the Circle."  
  
"Not all."  
  
"No, but most. When they're forced into creation, they turn out like that," he stabbed a finger into the air for emphasis. "I won't ruin this woman, not like that. When she falls on her knees in surrender to me it will be because she hungers for my taste. I want her as a bride, not a brainwashed zombie under my hypnotic stare."  
  
Jean smiled. After all this time, endless time, Remy continued to have poets dwell in his heart. "Why, master, I do believe you're in love. I'm impressed. You haven't been in love for years-"  
  
Her sentence stopped dead when Remy closed the space between them in one swoop and clamped her arms in a steel grip. "How dare you even speak of it!" He bellowed but quickly regaining composure.  
  
"I didn't say her name!" Jean gasped, shock swallowing her fear.   
  
"I don't even want to hear you utter a syllable concerning her. Or him. Not a one." He specified through clenched teeth.  
  
Jean squirmed in vain. "Alright!" She cried. He released her. Rubbing her left shoulder, she contemplated flinging a snide remark in his face but thought the wiser and stalked out of his room, slamming the heavy doors behind her.  
  
Remy half-turned to stop her pursuits but made no further effort. He silently cursed his foolish behavior; it was not Jean he was angry with. It was the impatience that coursed through his veins, nibbling at his tolerance. The longing for Rebecca was transforming into a desperate ache.   
  
He turned toward the open window and embraced the mild breeze that swept into his room. He didn't have time to wallow in his thoughts; the sun would rise soon. He could feel it in his bones. Sighing, he followed Jean out the door and made his way down, down into the passageways dug deep underground his mansion where the sun's pitiless rays could not stroke. Several of his companions scurried into their various corners of the underground lair as well. At the end of one of these passages stood a flat, stone bed adorned by layers of velvet draping off the sides. A large antique coffin encrusted with jewels and inlaid with flame-blue silk lay open atop the velvet blankets. Remy slipped into the casket and closed it over him. He welcomed the peaceable slumber, for tomorrow was an excruciatingly vital step in his plan. Tomorrow, he was a shoulder to cry on.  
  
**  
  
Remy knocked on the hotel door with two confident taps. A small bustle ensued inside but eventually she answered the door. He catches his breath.  
"Suh," Rebecca sniffed, wiping at her blotchy eyes with her handkerchief. "What are you doing heuh?"  
Remy bowed with a slight tip of the head. "I was simply passing by on your charming street and decided I absolutely must stop in and say hello to the creature I embarrassed myself shamelessly to." He pretended to take in her weeping features for the first time and crinkled his brows. "Oh, but I see this is not the best time." He turned, "I'm so very sorry."  
"No," she called after him, catching him by the arm and ushering him inside. "Please."  
Remy stepped through the threshold and let out an unconscious sigh. Power.  
He sat next to Rebecca on the parlor couch. "What's wrong, beautiful one? A woman as ravishing as yourself should never stain herself with the salt of painful tears." She smiled weakly. "Come, tell me what has made you cry so bitterly; it twists my heart in torturous knots."  
Rebecca let a strangled sob escape her and she wept into his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her small frame and let her absorb strength from his infinite supply. "There, there. Tell me what could be so bad."  
"Oh, God," she wailed. "My love, Cody. Cody's dead." She cried. "He's dead."  
Remy lifted her face and peered into her eyes. "Your lover, Cody, is dead? That's a pain no heart should ever endure!"  
"I know! He was m...m...murdered!" She choked then added in a whisper. "Murdered in his own home." She put a hand to her heaving chest. "Our home!"  
Remy looked crushed at the news and sympathized with the poor girl, rocking her and murmuring soothing words into her thick curls. This went on for almost an hour-and-a-half until finally she gathered the strength to separate from him and swipe streaking tears from her wet cheeks. Remy had never seen a lovelier woman.  
"Ah'm just going to go freshen up," she laughed humorlessly. "Ah'll only be a minute."  
Remy waited until she returned, looking refreshed as the cool dew on long blades of grass.   
"Ah'm so sorry you had to be here for that, Mr..."  
"Remy. My name is Remy."  
"Rebecca," she replied, wringing her hands together and returning to her seat beside him. "It was just so sudden; Ah got the telegram just this morning." The thought accumulated a fresh batch of tears swelling in her eyes so Remy made an immediate intervention.  
"Don't even think about me right now. I'm just happy someone was here to grieve with you. Pain is intolerable alone." His last words were laced with a sense of personal consideration.   
Remy patted her hand next to him on the couch then clasped it in his own. It was an informal, sympathetic gesture, she knew, but it sent white-hot fire flooding through her.   
And then, for one fleeting moment, their eyes sunk into each other's depths and their hearts beat in perfect, simultaneous harmony, and they were neither evil nor purity, eternal or ephemeral, they were just two.   
Remy inched toward her to plant the crucial kiss on her maddening round mouth, her lips parting at the awaited endowment.  
"No," she breathed as his lips barely began to brush hers. She turned her head and he retreated at once. She pressed her fingers hard against her mouth as if to redeem her harbored sin.   
Rebecca swallowed and silently cursed herself for feeling such passionate emotions toward another man so soon after her fiancé's death. What did he do to her that made her heart thrash so vehemently?  
"I'm sorry," she whispered, turning to face him again.  
He had stood. "It's alright." He paused and thought of something to say. "It's alright." For a moment, he contemplated ending his suffering and just burrowing his two fangs deep into the down of her pale, sweet neck. But he couldn't do it. He could not. O the endured agony of watching her writhe so helplessly beside him but unable to even touch her, like a burning bright star.   
Silently, he exited her hotel suite. She threw herself on the couch and buried her face in the pillows. She wanted to resume sobbing for her lost fiancé, but she knew Remy would be back, and for that thought she could not bring herself to shed one single tear. 


	4. Virgins

Naked, Jean picked through the garments of her bureau, finally deciding on a thin, lavender dress. She slipped it over her head and it glided over her generous curves, flaring out just below her knees.  
"Magnificent," Jason said from behind her. She narrowed her eyes and turned.  
"What are you doing in my chambers, Satan?"  
Jason snorted, uncrossing his arms and creeping toward her with casual, relaxed steps. He was a spider circling his unsuspecting prey with a web of deceit, his fly unaware until the woven strands come tightening in to suffocate it. Jean stood defiant. She wasn't afraid, for which Jason was exceedingly irritated.   
He spread his arms in a peaceful gesture. "Why can't we be friends, woman?" He snatched her shoulders, forcing her close against him. "Good friends," he purred. Jean swallowed the sick lump in her throat, thoroughly disgusted with anything this man was. She was inhumanly strong, to be sure, but men were stronger. That's why they lead the Circle.  
She twisted in his iron grip and let a revolted shudder escape her when he pressed his bearded face against her soft neck. He inhaled deeply, dwelling there for an extra moment to feel her quiver in his arms.  
"Ugh!" She screeched as her small hands gripped the sides of his head in a feeble attempt to pry him away. "I could never befriend you, monster. I abhor you; you're a sordid fiend! Monster!" She wailed again, trying to ignore the feel of his filthy presence seeping through her very pores and consuming her bloodstream. When he slid a hand to her supple waist, Jean took the opportunity to slap him across the face with her free hand.  
He threw her across the room with one violent heave. She slammed into the far wall and slid down into a heap on the floor. But before the human eye could acknowledge it, she was on her feet again, smiling. Jason flew to her and pinned her to the wall with one massive hand clamped around her lily-white throat.   
"Listen, whore," he spat the last word but Jean didn't flinch. "Maybe you are starting to get the idea that you're powerful or something since you killed that city boy, Cody. Yeah, I know about that. I know all about that, because I'm part of the Circle." He annunciated the last word and this time she flinched. "Remy and I are like brothers; his blood pumps through my body." Which was true. Remy had created every member of the entire Guild. "So I suggest you treat me with a little more respect before I teach you a lesson on it." His eyes traveled the length of her body, making it clear what that lesson would consist of.  
Jean peered at him through hateful eyes the color of brewing storms. "Your time will come," she forced through clenched teeth.   
He held her gaze for a split-second before chuckling dryly. Still laughing, he released her and fled.  
  
**  
  
Ororo padded through the street stealthily, only making noise when she chose. Jubilation and Kitten followed, sticking close to each other with darting eyes and throbbing hearts. Suddenly, the African goddess stopped and turned to them, the moon behind her pouring forth a silver shadow. The two girls halted immediately and fought the urge to clasp bodies and tremble.   
"Here is perfect." Ororo stated and the two girls exchanged weary glances. The stunning woman noticed this and approached them, placing an assuring hand on each of their shoulders. "Look children, I know it is your first, but you have nothing to fear. I am with you, and it is what we do to survive."   
With this, Ororo proceeded to make her way to the lamppost directly next to the street bench behind her. Wordlessly, she leaned against it, her thin, powder blue garments and pure snow-white hair draping against the metal and creating the image of Venus herself.   
A fairly well built man with dark curly hair and dark, sinful eyes approached her. Kitten and Jubilation watched from their distance.   
They inched toward each other as the man noticed Ororo and stopped and mumbled something to her. She smiled softly and nodded, her eyes achieving a purely bewitching effect. She pointed over at Jubilation and Kitten and the man nodded approvingly.  
"What is she doing?" Jubilation whispered to her companion without removing her eyes from the scene.  
"I don't know," replied the other girl absently.  
Ororo beckoned them over with a flip of her hand.  
"You see," Ororo said to the man. "Young and beautiful."  
His intentional eyes crawled over the two youthful girls, cheeks rosy and mouths like strawberries.  
Ororo placed a delicate hand on the man's broad chest. "Let me show you how wonderful they are." She guided him back into an alley between two crumbling stone buildings far from the lamppost so that their only source of light was the benevolent moon.   
Kitten and Jubilation followed Ororo in after her prompting and the man immediately commenced to fumble with his pant zipper, already growing excited with the very prospect of such beautiful women.  
Ororo pressed against him, chest to chest, until their faces were millimeters apart. "Listen, man." She annunciated, her rich voice cold as the abyss. Her heavenly fingers raking across his chest soon became painful pins against his collarbone. She clasped a firm hand around his thick neck and burrowed her red fingernails in until blood seeped around them.   
His eyes became large and though his mind screamed at him to force her off, his hands would not obey. Kitten and Jubilation stared on with gaping jaws and disbelieving eyes.   
"Do not resist and if you are wondering if you are going to die the answer is yes. You are a filthy man and if you believe in hell I hope you are prepared to go there." She turned her face ever so slightly to her two students. "Now look, children. I have taken control over the mobility cortex of his brain. He cannot move unless I wish it." She turned back at him. "And believe me, I do not wish it. The only thing I wish you to be able to move freely is your mouth, so that I may hear you scream." She dug her claws deeper into his neck and he winced.  
"Come," she told the girls and they obeyed. Ororo tipped the man's hulking body so that his wounds were level with their young, round faces. "Drink."  
They both stepped forward, suddenly very aware of their hunger for this. Jubilation inched even closer, and so she dipped her head and clasped her ruby lips around the man's bleeding hole. Ororo smiled proudly when she saw the steady swallowing rhythm of the girl's throat.   
Kitten watched. She couldn't tear her eyes from the vulgar act, sucking a man's blood in the middle of a dark alley. And she was next. She couldn't do it- she just couldn't drink from another man's veins.  
Ororo lifted Jubilation's head when the sweet red began to trickle out the corners of her small lips. Kitten's eyes stayed glued to the now free, open wound, still spilling blood.   
"Your turn, Kitten," Ororo said. One look at the sinful red wine and Kitten lowered her head to drink vigorously and fulfill her parched throat. The thrill invaded her and sent her soaring above the world she had known and into a world of immortality. She was strong and beautiful forever and ever, and it was bliss- pure, heavenly bliss. The man groaned jadedly as the last of his essence was drained from him by a sixteen year old girl's aching thirst.   
"Aghhh!" Kitten cried when Ororo pried her away, leaving the man's body to crumple and slump against the stonewall. "Is it," she sucked in lungfuls of air, "is it like that every time?"  
"Every time," Ororo replied coolly, and the three stood and set forth home.  
  
**  
  
Remy stalked the streets, frustrated and anxious, his long charcoal cloak billowing behind him. Slowing, he removed his top hat from his head and traced along the rim with his slender fingers. The night replayed in his mind again and he cringed at the thought of her face when she'd refused him, again. His gut churned and his blood began to simmer- he'd been so agonizingly close, her breath had been tantalizingly warm against his lips and his mouth had just barely known the wondrous, divine knowledge so few others knew.   
That was when Remy realized that this woman was the one he wanted to bind by his side until the end of time; she had stirred an emotion in him he hadn't felt since Belladonna.   
Pain. His heart twisted when she tore herself away from him. She hurt him and for which Remy was later elated. He was so sure now and it was no longer a game. But this thought brought but another emotion he hadn't felt in decades: fear. Suppose he was unable to convert her? The thought only pranced across his conscious mind once and he'd immediately dismissed such a silly notion, but it continued to lurk in the dark recesses of his thoughts.   
Rage and failure seething from him now, Remy pursued homeward but kept alert for an outlet for his anger: a boisterous pervert, a deceptive peddler, or his personal guilty pleasure, an unsuspecting virgin. The one that approached him was no virgin, but young and certainly misled. She wore a dangerously short frock with a plunging neckline, her face coated with color and her hair yanked into a twisted up-do. Remy smiled as she passed and their eyes lingered for an extra second. Interest aroused, she approached him and he stood stationary.   
He quirked an eyebrow in question and she nodded, answering his suspicions. She jerked her head in the direction behind her, obviously offering to lead him to her place, but he shook his head. "No, here is fine." He snatched her by the rounded waist and stepped into her. Before she could react, he opened his jaw wide and planted it in the nook of her neck where a protruding vein throbbed.   
The whore let a gasp of fear and arousal escape her lips before her arms fell limp at her sides. Remy stopped when her pulse slowed to a dangerous pace, releasing her and tipping his head back to sigh contentedly. The Rush still stopped his heart if even for a transitory moment after centuries.   
"Oh my God! M... Murderer! Demon! Demon!" A passing woman cried, pointing an accusatory finger at the head vampire. He stood imperturbable with the young whore still in his arms. House lamps began to suddenly burn in the windows of neighboring houses and Remy's eyes watched as a few doors swung open and unruly men appeared, cocking their guns and swearing under their breath. O how Remy wished he could stay and feel each of their spinal cords crush under his fist, but he was no animal. Besides, the sensation deep into the pit of him warned him, and no doubt every other member of the Guild right about now, that the sun was on her ruthless way to peeking over the horizon.  
Remy pivoted and with a flip of his cape, was hoisted from the ground by his own will and soon mingling with the stars on a much more steadfast journey to the mansion.  
  
**  
  
Kitten wept in her chambers. It was only last night that she had killed a man. Sighing, she threw herself back on her canopy bed, the sheer pink and red curtains draping over the sides illuminated by the roaring fire in her mantle. Logan had said that remorse was probably natural after your first kill; he couldn't remember, it had been so long. Kitten had smiled weakly and thanked him for the assurance but she continued to feel like a gaping sore with grains of salt periodically added to it.  
But Ororo was much more helpful. She knew exactly why Kitten grieved- it was because she'd liked it, and no doubt wanted more. It's all right; it's perfectly natural. In fact, it promises strength in the future. But I want to kill again! You will, soon. And it won't be long when you can go out and take as much as you'd like. Because that's what we do, Kitten. We take what we want.  
"Knock, knock." Kitten looked up at the doorway. It was Jean, easily the most powerful woman in the Guild, undoubtedly on account of her close relationship with Remy. She was just above Ororo in the rank of things for the women and even that was because their master played favorites.   
She meandered into the room and pushed aside a carnation colored veil to the canopy, flopping down on the bed.   
"Ororo told me you were feeling bad, child. I hope it's better now."  
Kitten nodded and assured her it was.  
"You know," Jean added, "unlike the men you have probably asked, I remember what my first was like." She became wistful and she acquired a distant look in her dark silver-specked eyes. "I suppose they just don't remember those things, but we do." She turned to Kitten. "Us women, I mean. Ask any of us and we can tell you how it felt, and how we felt after it. Like you, I was scared of what I'd become: an insatiable killer." She faced the ceiling and a smile played at her glistening red lips. "I lusted for the blood again, and again." She came back to her senses. "But, it had been just me and a few others, with Remy of course, and at that time our only option was to flee, one city to another, country after country." She stopped suddenly. "You know I once made love to William Shakespeare himself?" Jean asked.  
Kitten tried to suppress a smile but to no avail. "It's alright, laugh. I just didn't have the heart to kill the old bastard, though." The two shared a laugh. "The point is, sweetheart, you don't have to be afraid. Logan created you, right? Well then you can always count on him. And Ororo has got you, and if that isn't enough, I'll protect you." She laid a hand on Kitten's. "I'll protect you."  
"Thank you," was all the girl could manage to say."  
  
**  
  
Jean could have grasped clumps of her own hair and wrenched them out in handfuls. What was WRONG with her? Never, not since the day Remy created her before the world's current calendar even existed, had she ever returned to a man. And yet, what now, she wandered to Scott's apartment. 'O it's just to bed the man then leave him with a miserable broken heart. That's it.' After all, Remy practically ordered her to do it. In fact, he DID order her to do that very thing, though perhaps not in so many words.  
Her feet unconsciously began making quicker steps. Who was she kidding? She was a woman after all, and she needed to feel the gentle caress of a man, not rough and clumsy, not all the time, and what Ororo said was all too true, what the Guild wanted, they took. And she had a voracious hunger to please a man tonight, and something told her that he hadn't had a woman please him, not really please him, in a long time. Her mind, drenched in years of experience, examined every possibility and soon her long pale green dress billowed behind her she walked so fast.   
Finally, she reached the apartment, and after scanning the vicinity with piercing eyes, she lifted herself from the ground and floated to his balcony, landing gracefully and silently on the marble. She peered into the suite and immediately narrowed her eyes, a telltale sign of her anger that both Remy and Logan knew to beware of.   
Perched on Scott's sofa sat a petite blonde, head poised, hand clasping a champagne flute. He sat directly to her right, a bit more relaxed and leaning against the armrest as she described an event to him in perfect detail. He nodded consecutively and finally she ended with a mellifluous giggle and Scott laughed a little, too. Jean snorted. Poor, poor people, living like this from day to day, life revolving around teatime and the "utterly preposterous," or "simply detestable," their only source of amusement. Jean resolved to save this poor Scott chap from his doom before he sealed it by doing something absurd, like marrying this wench for instance.   
With some gentle stimulation from Jean, Emma decided it was well time she left. After all, it WAS getting late.  
"Well, then, I'll see you tomorrow?" Emma said from his doorway.  
He met her in the frame. "Of course, darling." They parted with a genial but sweet kiss on the lips, no doubt lingering on the two prudes for hours to come. Jean pursed her lips and watched Emma depart.   
The fierce redhead flew back down to the hotel front stairs and made her way to his room. She tapped the door with her fingernails and struck an alluring pose.  
Scott hurried to the door and opened it. "Forgot something did yo...?" His jaw plummeted and he clenched the doorknob. "You!" He stuttered.  
Jean sauntered into the suite and clicked the door shut behind her. "Yes, it's me. Are you... surprised?" She asked through a creeping smile, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.   
He held his hands out in front of him. "I, I don't know. It's just that I looked for you for so long after that night. He paused while his eyes searched her as if to secure the knowledge that she existed and was before him. "Rebecca told me it was a dream, but I knew." He took an excited step toward her. "I knew you weren't a dream. It was real!"   
She laughed out loud. "Of course I'm real silly!" Her hands glided over his abdomen and to his chest, her fingers toying with the buttons on his shirt. She captured his eyes in an alluring gaze.  
Suddenly, Scott's expression sank and he took her hands in his own, pulling them back down to their sides. "Why are you here?" He frowned. "Why have you come?"  
Jean had to admit, she was a bit taken aback. A man never asked why he just complied. Obviously he was different. This poor fellow was all too aware of the danger signs pointing to a broken heart.   
He swallowed hard. "You won't be here when I wake up in the morning, will you?"  
What could she say? "No, I cannot be here tomorrow morning, but it's not why you think it is." She paused and allowed herself to linger in his eyes. "But I can be here tomorrow night. That is, if you'll still want me."  
He looked puzzled for a moment. "You mean, I'll see you again after tonight?"  
She nodded. "If you'd like."  
A blush invaded his cheeks and forehead. "Yes, I'd like that very much."   
And with that, he cupped her face and kissed her tenderly on her mouth. Jean jabbed her tongue past his lips and immediately pulled away, nibbling a bit on his lip. She crushed her body against his and ran frantic fingers through his hair. The couple stumbled into the bedroom and she threw him on the large bed, crawling up to kiss him again on hands and knees.   
  
Scott lied in bed the next morning, content. She had overwhelmed his senses and took his sensations to an elevated extreme he never thought possible. She had an insatiable passion that Scott loved to touch and kiss and caress and feel, feel, feel. Scott had hoped to witness the Italian sunrise with her (it sounded silly, but Scott just KNEW the sunrise was more breath-taking on this side of the world), but she'd fled just before the big moment. She slid her dress over her perfect body, crafted by Myron himself Scott swore, and rushed out the door, stopping only to plant a deep kiss on his mouth and mumble, "My name is Jean." And then she was gone.  
She was like some enchanting fairy creature- present by night but never by day- his bewitching midnight mistress. He was smiling despite himself when Rebecca walked in, promptly pulling open his curtains and letting the brilliant sun flood his large room.  
"And a good morning to you, suh. Have a good night did we?"  
Scott regarded her with an even wider grin. "What makes you think that, my darling?"  
"Let's just say there was sunshine in this room befoah I even opened those curtains!"  
Scott wanted to tell Rebecca, but he knew she would just take him for crazy until the two lovely women actually met, so he opted instead to change the subject. "And where were YOU all last night?"  
"I, Mistah Wellington, danced until nearly sunrise and I had a simply marvelous time!" Never mind that the man I'd been waiting to see on the streets was nowhere to be found last night.  
"Well I'm glad, Rebecca. I'm so very glad."  
She smiled, crossing the room and heading for the door. "Well you look it, mistah." She winked and closed the door behind her.  
  
  
  
  
AUTHOR:  
  
You guys are too great. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! I've got some huge plans for this story and it's all outlined on paper. It's just a matter of getting them typed into format, but never fear, friends, never fear! I'm very passionate about this story and I'll be tippity tap tapping on my keyboard until every chapter is posted and shared with you wunnerful wunnerful people!   
~Peace  
REVIEW! 


	5. Proud Ends

It was just hitting midnight when Jean emerged from her casket, a little late for her considering several members of the Guild had already been out for hours, but she was refreshed and very much alive... and hungry.   
  
She floated in perfect elegant poise down the crumbling stone stairs to the wine cellar, the air shifts creating the only echo of her movements. At the bottom of the steps, she stopped. She listened. It was too quiet. Silence bellowed through the mansion's basement walls. The vampire woman took cautious glances left, then right, her long scarlet waves swinging over her small shoulders. She saw only the dusty wine bottles tucked securely in their cubbies.  
  
But a vampire's intuition was known worldwide for it's virtually perfect accuracy. So she took tentative steps through the cellar, glancing over the rows upon rows of priceless wine. She passed the last rack and turned. Jean gasped and clutched at the round bodice of her white frock.  
  
Screaming, she turned and sprinted back up the stairs. She flung the doors open and raced through the mansion in search of Remy. He was currently nursing a grieving heart in his chambers. She fled to his doors and charged through them.  
  
"Remy! Remy, saints in heaven!"  
  
He sat in his chair in front of the fire, a glass of brandy in his hand. "What's happened," he asked perfunctorily without turning his face to regard her.  
  
Jean stalked back to his door as if to lead the way. "Come quick, O God! It's Kitten. She's dead! Murdered, Remy. I... O God!" She wailed, nearly hysterical.  
  
Remy turned now, luster lacking in his brilliant eyes. "Where is she?"   
  
"Down... downstairs in the wine cellar." Jean laid a trembling hand on her abdomen fought the image of the bloody heap on the ground that was Kitten's body, the mass of brown tangles Jean's only identification tool.   
  
Remy continued to sip his drink and stare into the fire. Jean stood, incredulous. "Remy! Did you hear me? God almighty, she's dead!"  
  
As she said it, anger began to brew behind her eyes. A young girl, a girl Jean promised she would protect, lied dead in their cellar. And Remy did nothing.   
  
He rose his glass to his lips as if to drink but instead threw it into the flames, shards of combusting glass flicking into his flesh. He didn't care. One girl's death didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing except Her, his sweet Rebecca, and finding a suitable man to replace Jean-Luc as the fifth. An ache squirmed in his gut, ever so slowly creeping into his chest and infecting his heart.  
  
Jean was too furious to deal with her master's insolence. She spat at his feet and fled from his chambers, down the corridors, and back to the cellar.  
  
Stopping at the foot of the stone steps, she brought her hand to her heart and gasped for breath. It was all happening too fast. Kitten was dead. It was fact. Not twelve feet from Jean, on the other side of wine racks, a girl laid in a cool puddle of her own blood, symbolizing an iron failure of Jean's. She inched toward the end of the cellar, the stench of century-old mildew filling her lungs and nothing but the sound of the whispering wind sharing secrets behind her back.  
  
A strong hand clamped around her mouth from behind her. Screeching in her throat, she tried to pry him away with her fingernails but to no avail. She kicked her legs but he crushed her back closer against his massive chest.  
  
"You see, whore. You see what happens when you hold your head higher than it belongs?" He rasped against her earlobe, the stubble on his square chin scratching her neck.  
  
Jean bit Jason's hand until she tasted the bitter tang of a fellow vampire's blood. He yelped and released her, allowing her to spring from his hold and stand face to face with him. "Don't you know you could be tied to the Pole for murdering one of your own kind?"   
  
He shrugged, the wound on his palm already healed. "She was no one. Besides, I am a member of the Circle, a leader," he paused, "a man. Your silly little rules don't apply to me, you little street slut. My power-"   
  
Jean was unprepared for him to pounce on her in mid-sentence. His hands clenching her hips in a bruising manner, he hoisted her in the air with him and smashed her into a far wall, pinning her three feet from the ground with his weight.  
  
"Take our hands off me!" She cried, pounding her fists into his shoulders and twisting her abdomen. It was futile. Vampire men were the strongest things on earth. That's why only five were allowed to roam its soil at one time. Jean was simply no match for Jason in brute strength.   
  
Of which he intended to take firm advantage of. He caught her jaw between thumb and forefinger, forcing her head to remain still as he whispered into the small air between their mouths, "You're powerful, it's true, but only because you are the master's pet. Let us see how great you are when Remy is not here to protect his favorite pupil." A dirty hand roamed across her neck and began to toy with the laces of the round bodice on her dress.   
  
Jean tipped her head back and bit her lip, controlling the rising vile in her throat at the feel of Jason's digits prodding over her breasts. She concentrated on the feel of her heels digging into the stones, the cool, hard wall behind her back, the tips of her long hair plastered with sweat against her bare shoulders. 'Oh God, help me Remy,' she screamed silently. 'Help, help.'  
  
Jean let out a deep sigh of relief when she heard footsteps coming from the stairs. Jason wrenched his head from where he'd been dragging his mouth across her collarbone to listen. He flew back from Jean and landed on his feet, causing her to react quickly in keeping herself elevated and then descending back to the floor until she stood on her own two feet again.   
  
Ororo appeared from behind the racks. She spared one look at her two fellow vampires and raised a platinum eyebrow.   
  
Jason momentarily considered taking them both, but knew he would not be able to hold off two women, no matter how invincible he seemed. Choosing the wiser, he snorted in disgust and stalked back upstairs.   
  
Ororo knew immediately. "His time will come." She said in a rich but deadly tone. Jean shuddered, a bit intimidated by the woman vampire named only Ororo. For some reason, when she said it, Jean couldn't doubt it. She could not.  
  
**  
  
Remy had hoped to spend the night with Rebecca. He was going to visit her house one last time, give the whole thing one last shot, and then, if she refused, that would be it. He would swallow his broken heart until even he could never find it again and move on with his eternal life. Of course, whom was he kidding? He'd crawl back to the unstained virgin as many times as it took, but that truly wasn't the point at the moment.   
  
Because walking in perfect step beside him was Remy's soon-to-be fifth member of the Circle of the Vampire Guild, located in the heart of beautiful Italy, est. well, a long time ago. A final fifth- needless to say, Remy was ecstatic. His search was over. The man had strength, cunning, heart, intellect- a killer, a lover, a man. His name: Warren Worths. He had a general build, fair wavy hair and small piercing blue eyes that made men fear and women swoon.   
  
The pair walked side by side to the Mansion, silent but with electric blood pumping through their veins.   
  
Rebecca followed. She stayed at least thirty paces behind them, and had Remy not been so absorbed with his newfound fifth, he would have easily detected her recurring scent or even the sound of her anxious footsteps. But he thought of nothing but the impending initiation. And so, she lurked behind, curiosity driving her to discover this man's hidden truths. Her head told her what she was doing was silly, but her heart knew something about this man was very different from any other. Like why he'd been such an infrequent appearance in her life and yet her heart pounded at the thought of him. Why his eyes made her want to cling to his body and throw all inhibitions to the howling wind.   
  
Cautiously, she crept behind them.  
  
"This is it," Remy said, leading Warren through the entrance of his mansion with gaping ceilings and walls covered with ivy.  
  
"Magnificent," Warren noted.  
  
"Yes it is," Remy agreed. "Mother Nature is the most fantastic of earth's decorators."  
  
Warren nodded and followed Remy through a tour of the house. He'd known about vampires for quite some time, now. His father told him of them, and his father, and so on. But nothing prepared Warren for this. They were everywhere, lingering on sofas or gliding through balcony hallways- all beautiful women. And he, he was to rule them all, to be a completion to their inner Circle.  
  
"Who is this, Remy?" Elisabeth asked, flipping a violet strand behind her.  
  
"This is our fifth," Remy replied simply, stretching his hands toward the two in an embrace of greeting.   
  
Elisabeth's eyes traveled Warren appreciatively and he smirked in response. Wordlessly, she approached him, placed a hand on either side of his neck, and met her lips with his.   
  
He received the kiss awkwardly at first, a bit surprised by the alluring woman's forwardness, but soon held her close and returned it hungrily. She pulled away and sauntered off, leaving Warren to watch.  
  
Remy shook his head. "Pace yourself. The Guild has over thirty women and all but a few will try to-" He cocked his head to the side and inhaled deeply. That smell. It was pure. The Guild Mansion never harbored a pure smell. The head vampire stepped closer in the direction from which it came and instantly recognized the scent of honey twisted with sweet innocence. Her.   
  
He pivoted and flew around a turn in the wall only to find Rebecca running far away, already halfway across the hills peppered with wild flowers that surrounded his home. She knew everything. He considered following her but dismissed the notion. He had Warren to deal with first and he knew she wouldn't tell a soul. Perhaps Scott, but he was taken care of.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES  
  
I know this is aggravatingly short but things are beyond hectic around my spot. But the next chapter will be up lickety split. Promise. This 'weeks between updates' crap is just ridiculous.   
  
THANK YOU ALL FOR THE REVIEWS! I defy any red-blooded writer that says reviews do no make their creative energy literally explode in a rush within them.  
  
One last thing: the comment about Lost Boys. Rock the f*ck on. One of my favorites! 


	6. Silver Springs

"You could be my silver springs  
my, blue green colors flashing  
I would be your only dream  
Your shining orange, oceans crashing  
And did you say she was pretty?  
Did you say that she loved you?  
Baby, I don't want to know."  
~Fleetwood Mac (Stevie Nicks)  
  
  
  
  
  
READ THE SONG PIECE BEFORE THIS! It's REALLY PRETTY, SO JUST READ IT YOU LAZY JOES! OKAY...  
  
  
  
Scott didn't particularly like making English women cry. When Emma left his apartment with tears streaking her pale cheeks, he bit his knuckles. But he didn't wake in the middle of the night calling for Emma.  
  
Jean. Damned temptress; wicked enchantment. His gold-dust woman. He couldn't, in good conscience, continue seeing Emma as his love affair raged on with another woman. No woman deserved that.   
  
He sat sipping a cold cup of tea when Jean opened his door and closed it behind her, crawling onto the couch and pressing frantic kisses against his responsive mouth without so much as a hello or invitation inside.   
  
Jean wasn't sure why she kept returning to this miserable apartment and this pathetic man. She needed to get away from the Mansion, the corpse of Kitten Pryde, Satan, and worst of all, Remy's cold, insensible eyes. He'd been so uncaring of Kitten's death. What the hell was the matter with him? Jean's fists balled, scrunching the fine fabric of Scott's shirt in the process. He moaned against her mouth and she wrenched away from the embrace, a wave of cruelty having swept over her. She wanted to make this mortal beg- beg forgiveness for his ridiculous fortune: handsome, wealthy, and blissfully ignorant.   
  
She stepped from his grasp and stood tall, shedding her flame-orange shawl with fine silk embroidery from across her silky shoulders and dropping it gracefully until it puddled at her bare, delicate feet. Scott drank in the sight of his heart's craving. Jean wore a sleeveless white frock with a simple square bodice that left her entire lily chest exposed and just barely tempted a man with the fleshy tops of her rich endowments.  
  
Scott's eyes saw only his evil angel standing before him and in a spur of profound desire he slid to his knees and held his hands out in intangible offering to his personal deity. He tried to speak, but his mouth ran empty and he sputtered air and his lips babbled uncomprehendingly and silent. Invisible, he held his soul in his hands, outstretched to her statuesque form.   
  
She didn't seem to either notice or care.  
  
The corners of Jean's mouth perked into a satisfied smile. This man was another to her list of fallen lovers. But alas, as she knelt in front of him and rewarded his grand display of devotion with a hungry kiss, she felt that he was different. Or perhaps she was.   
  
Running her hands through his hair and across his scalp, reveling in the feel of his hands roaming madly over her curves, she NEEDED something. Jean nuzzled into the crook of his neck as his hand disappeared under her dress. As he showered her with kisses, Jean could feel the vein throbbing in his neck. The Sweet Vein, the Guild had named it. Jean's tongue left the warm womb of her mouth to drag along the slightly purple line against the bronze of his muscular neck.   
  
She needed it. Jean opened her jaw and positioned her fangs perfectly as Scott gently kneaded a breast. She bit, the sickening-sweet sound of skin being penetrated by the sharp ivory acting as an electric jolt through Jean's body. Glorious God, what had she done? NO!  
  
Scott gasped and his strong body went limp in her arms. Slowly, she laid him onto the floor beside her and tore his shirt open to inspect the wound. It was too late. Centuries of experience made every bite a perfect kill. It was only a matter of brief, precious moments.  
  
Scott stared up at her with glazed questioning eyes. "Oh God," she wept into his chest. "What have I done? What have I done!" She wailed at the ceiling.  
  
Scott managed a weak hand at the small of her back, and still adoration shone through his almond-colored eyes. His mouth opened slowly. "I forgive you, angel. I forgive." Blood clotted in his throat and specked the corners of his lips.   
  
Jean's immeasurable time stopped for a transitory second and the world spun ten times faster around her and this beautiful man. But for the two of them, everything... stopped. And Jean knew what she had to do. It was her reckless passion that would take this good man's life and she couldn't live forever with that secret harbored in her chest. Great saints, do I feel something for this man?   
  
Suddenly, Jean yanked her hair behind her shoulders and knelt her bosom to Scott's chest. Ruby ringlets cascaded down beside him, creating a red curtain to one side. Scott's eyes were made level with her own soft neck. "Drink," he heard her whisper. "I will save you."  
  
Scott was confused. Surely she didn't mean drink from her. Drink her... blood. His face contorted at the thought of it. But soon his blood began to run icy through his body and a sticky pool had formed on the ground beside him and the red stained through his wet collar. Hopelessly, he felt his own life drain from the gaping wound in his neck that she, his beloved goddess, had bestowed upon him. And yet, he couldn't find it in his heart to be angry with her. Was she playing mind games with him- making him love her so desperately with some evil sorcery his father had warned him such women were capable of? Probably. But he cared not. And with his aching love came trust. He didn't know what was to happen, but he'd coarse through the jaws of hell with her by his side.  
  
Idly, he wondered where Rebecca was.  
  
He bit.  
  
And swallowed. And swallowed. And swallowed until what seemed like a million years passed, her sweet blood flooding his mouth and pouring down his throat. She gripped the sides of his head and let out a gratifying cry of ecstasy or pain, he couldn't tell. Either way he tore himself from her neck and stared into her wonderful, bright eyes.   
  
Then immense pain. His immune system fought the unfamiliar blood. He wanted it. It was her. He wanted it because it was her.   
  
Blackness clamped his eyelids.  
  
**  
  
Remy sat in his chambers, contemplating decisively his next course of action. Soon, he would find Rebecca and make her his bride. No other option remained now that she had discovered the truth.  
  
He sipped red wine from his goblet.  
  
Before his doors even flung open to gain Jean entrance, he turned his head, sensing the anger and fear instilled in one of his vampires. She half-ran, half-flew into his room, her feet just barely grazing the floorboards in her frenzied haste.   
  
"Remy," she cried, her voice echoing emptily off his towering ceilings. She knelt before him, head in her hands, resting in his lap. Her snow-white frock spilled around her, blotted with a deep crimson in various areas. Her waist-length hair was stringy and matted from sweat and tears. The moonlight poured over her in a silver embrace, cradling its sister in her desperate time of need.  
  
In an instant, Remy knew everything. Visions pranced across his conscious mind, projected by Jean herself. "Master," she mumbled. He looked down at her and patted her head. She looked up at him, tears welling in her big eyes, threatening to fall but Remy knew they would not. She wouldn't let them. "Please, help me." She whispered.  
  
A wild wind swooped into Remy's chambers from his open window. "And what do you propose I do, hmm?" He asked, standing.  
  
Jean's eyes darted hysterically. "I... I don't know. I just don't." She paused. "I knew I wasn't created with the strength to make another vampire, but I had to try. I couldn't watch him grow old and die. Not like the others. Not him."  
  
Remy whirled and fell to his knees, clamping her shoulders. "It wasn't your place to decide! He's a man, Jean!"  
  
"P... Perhaps he could be the fifth! He could be our completi-"  
  
"I've already found a fifth to complete our Circle, Jean. Today. He's to be initiated on the third night from tonight."  
  
Jean's eyes became wide in horror. She brought a trembling hand to her round pout. "No, no." She stood and Remy immediately followed. "But he... he'll die, Remy! Dead!"  
  
"You should have thought about that before you drank from him!"  
  
"I had to try." She repeated frantically. "I didn't have the black heart to watch him wilt and die."   
  
"That was your own fault!" He roared, suddenly needing a cigarette and fumbling through a drawer for one.   
  
"Oh?" She followed his pursuits. "And what of Rebecca? Surely SHE'LL be created, will she not?" He was silent. "Of course, because whatever master wants, he gets." She spat the word master like venom.  
  
"It's different, Red." He said softly, realizing the graveness of the situation at once and therefore using her nickname to ease his friend's pain. "You know it's different. Circumstances are different. Rebecca's a wom-"  
  
"A woman, I know." Jean fled to his doors and turned, a cable of fire tumbling across her right eye. "I'll feed him until I'm dry. We'll die together." She hissed, and left. Remy shook his head, restraining himself from following. He had things of greater import to settle.  
  
**  
The next night  
  
Rebecca took tentative steps toward the breath-taking mansion, toying nervously with the edge of her silk green dress with gloved hands. She hummed nervously and occupied her swimming mind with comfortable thoughts. Absently, she wondered how Scott was feeling. He was so ill the entire day, refusing to leave the dark solitude of his room or even to speak. He gnawed on his knuckles and convulsed in his sweat-soaked sheets, mumbling a name Rebecca couldn't quite make out.   
  
She swallowed, determined to look stoic. She had seen something the other night and she was determined to know what the hell it was. Her whole life, they were nothing but fairytales- beings created from the imagination to keep small children in line or give weary travelers a tale to tell. Captivatingly resplendent women, dark, powerful men that knew every woman's deepest desire. Vampires.   
  
Rebecca had seen them, glimpsed at their unimaginable power, and yes, had fallen in love with one of them. The master. She shuddered.  
  
"How do you always manage to pick the worst ones, girl?" She muttered to herself, treading through the wild flower fields and to the towering front doors.   
  
A strikingly beautiful woman with skin the color of mahogany and spellbinding blue eyes greeted her at the entrance. But her hair- Rebecca sucked in a breath- fell in long, sleek layers, draping across her glass-smooth shoulders in a sheet of freshly fallen snow.   
  
Ororo, one of the oldest and wisest, retaining a twist of radiance with intelligence throughout her long years, greeted her. "Remy has been waiting. Come in, child." With a graceful spin, Ororo lead Rebecca through the mansion and through winding corridors, stopping before a magnificent door. "Go inside and be patient. I will tell him you've arrived."   
  
Not knowing what else to say, Rebecca sputtered a thank you to Ororo's retreating back to which the demon goddess nodded and smiled over her bare shoulder. Rebecca turned the knob and the door clicked open with little force.   
  
The warmth of the room consumed Rebecca immediately. A huge roaring fire danced in a fireplace, flicking amber shadows against the antique furniture and the far walls. Two women gasped and reared their heads at her entrance. They'd been lounging in one of the small sofas, their silk and velvet garments draped around them in a scene of regal luxury. One arched her slim back to stretch like the cat that had received the cream and they both stood.   
  
Rebecca squinted in the scarce golden light. "Emma?" The blonde woman nodded and approached the fair maiden followed by Betsy. They stood on either side of her and ran their hands up and down Rebecca's arms, trailing their fingernails against her downy skin.   
  
Rebecca didn't know the violet-haired woman, but Emma's eyes were different from when she last saw her. They weren't crystal, innocent blue anymore, but instead adorned with specks of gold to match the wheat shade of her soft blonde hair. The lovely southerner squirmed awkwardly in their embrace, her heart pounding violently against her chest. The vampire women continued to graze their fingernails up and down, up and down her toned arms, gazing lustfully into each other's eyes. Rebecca moved to step away from them but the woman with the purple hair dug into her with her fingers.   
  
Before Rebecca's eyes, they leaned into one another until their mouths made contact, their tongues ravenously intertwining with one another. Rebecca's pretty features scrunched at the lewd act only inches from her face, doubling her chin to part from the two women. "Oh, mah" She gasped, wrenching in their grasp now. "Stop it!"   
  
"Yes, do stop." A voice boomed from the doorway. The women immediately stopped and Emma swiped a string of saliva from her chin, smiling contentedly with her wicked eyes at Rebecca. As the women exited to give them privacy, Emma moved her pink mouth to Rebecca's cheek, invading the English woman's privacy on purpose. She said each word slow and purposefully.  
  
"Let's go. She's nothing but a measly, prude little virgin. No fun."  
  
And they left, passing Jason's hulking body in the doorframe.   
  
He rubbed his hands together. "You'll have to forgive Emma. She's a new addition and she hasn't quite learned the rules yet."  
  
Rebecca nodded slowly. "A new addition?"  
  
"Oh yes. I created her just last night. She's really quite lovely, just a bit crude at times. And Betsy," he rolled his eyes playfully, "well, there's truly no excuse for her."  
  
"Ah," Rebecca nodded again, unsure of what else to do. She turned away and gazed blankly into the flames. She wondered if there was any way she could escape this mansion, this whole mess now. For some reason, she felt more comfortable with the leering lesbians than she did in the presence of this man.   
  
"Remy was right." Rebecca jumped at his sudden closeness and the feel of his warm breath on her neck but didn't dare move for fear he'd become offended. "You ARE magnificent." His trimmed mustache scratched against her milky shoulder with every syllable. He inhaled deeply. "You even smell like an angel's purity. That's very attractive." His voice was a deep rumble and suddenly, Rebecca found herself aching for his touch. He pressed against her back and her breathing became haggard. "Your beauty is beyond comparison," he whispered in her ear. She tilted her head and her face was illuminated by a sinful orange glow from the flames and her mouth became a round, open 'o' as a fire burned in her loins. He was so powerful and handsome in a dangerously alluring way.   
  
She trembled at the feel of his ever-nearing lips to her neck. She licked her own peach, petal-soft lips, moistening them slick as she felt his hand raise to her curvaceous hip. "Oh, master," she heard herself utter. Did she say that? He growled deep in his throat in response.   
  
"That's enough." Remy stood five paces behind them holding a jewel-encrusted goblet. Silently, he walked to the nearest side table and placed his wine on it. He returned his eyes to the erotic scene at the fireplace but Jason had already parted from Rebecca within seconds. She looked back at Jason then at Remy, blinking in bewilderment. She opened her mouth to say something, anything.  
  
Remy cut her off with the wave of a hand, dismissing Jason. He left the room without sparing a final glance at Rebecca.   
  
She stood confused for a moment, but shook it off as a bad dream. The memory was rapidly fading anyway. Silence prevailed for many moments. She stared at Remy, hands clasped behind his back, clad in an elaborate outfit of red and black. Silence. His eyes brought her back to reality, and she immediately remembered why she'd come.  
  
Before a word was exchanged between the doomed lovers, she fled to where he stood and dropped to her knees, hugging his hips and weeping bitterly into his abdomen. He suppressed his startled expression and laid a hand atop her head. She looked up at him with glittering green eyes. Simply beautiful.   
  
"Please," she cried with a rose-red blush spreading across the bridge of her nose and her chestnut colored eyelashes batting innocently against her chiseled cheekbones. "Make me... Make me what you are." She choked, desperate tears caught in her throat.   
  
Remy opened his mouth but he was empty of words. He gazed down at her kneeling form, her silk green dress pooling around her knees in an endless emerald sea. Her lily-white chest heaved, her bosom rising and falling with every suck of breath.   
  
Remy spun and neared the fireplace, questing its flickering blazes for an answer. It had happened way too soon, much sooner than expected and he knew not what to say. An inkling of hesitance triggered within him. Could he commit the selfish act of draining this marvelous creation, no doubt christened under God's looming eyes at birth and protected by personal saviors of heaven and flocks of angels throughout every step of her implausibly short life?   
  
He turned and swallowed the sight of her, glowing radiance surrounding her very form where she knelt, a halo of pale yellow luminosity created around the crown of her pretty forehead by the wretched, unworthy light, her eyes as green as the earth's lush blades of grass thousands of years ago before man's heavy, selfish pollution.   
  
He certainly could.   
  
Remy needed her by his side until time stopped, weary in its countless years. Her decency, white as the spring dove, would purify his soul. Her integrity would wash his bloody sins from under his fingernails.   
  
He closed the gap between them and she scrambled to her feet. He cradled her face and claimed her scarlet lips with his experienced mouth, closing over her as a silver and gray storm invades the pacified blue of a seemingly endless sky. She melted into his passionate embrace, letting his strong arms wrap around her entire body and crush her against his chest.   
  
Remy tore his mouth away and tipped her chin up with his slender fingers until she was gazing at the cathedral ceiling. His kisses soon transformed into delicate butterfly wings against the crook of her neck. She sighed and Remy fought back his emotions in response to the feel of her delightful whisper of a breath against his earlobe, her maddening mouth only centimeters from him.   
  
He continued his ministrations on her neck, silently contemplating the least painful way to execute the procedure. He had never given it much thought. Even Belladonna's first bite was savage and rough. But that was how she had always preferred it. Remy distantly recalled the feel of her long, white fingernails raking across his back as she screamed a cry of ecstasy so loud the slumbering sun was sure to have heard it.   
  
He shoved the thoughts from his mind, disgusted with himself for soiling such a perfect moment with memories of such a common whore.  
  
Rebecca floated. She felt her feet still planted on the hardwood floors, but she simply... floated, blissfully. She tucked a lip under her top row of teeth and concealed cries of joy, for fear that once she commenced, she'd never stop. And then came the sharp pain in her neck, quickly consuming her whole body. She plummeted from her cloud in heaven and was wrenched into the mansion once again, staring at Remy's shoulder as he slowly slipped her to the floor.  
  
"What's-"  
  
Remy quieted her with a finger to her lips. "Don't speak just now. Just drink." She only then noticed the bleeding wound so far left on his neck it was almost in back of it, nearly completely concealed by his long strands of oily auburn. But it bled like the devil. A flowing stream of crimson flowed down his shoulder. With the aid of Remy, she lifted her weak body into a sitting position and trailed her tongue up the bleeding river until her mouth closed over the self-inflicted sore. "Drink it," he urged.  
  
She did. Pain for a moment, but then, everlasting beauty.   
  
**  
  
Had Scott been coherent, he would have wondered where Rebecca had been the entire next day. But he slept away the long sunny hours in the pitch-black seclusion of his confined apartment suite. Only when Jean came that night did he rouse from his tender rest.   
  
She glided easily into his apartment and sat at the foot of his bed.   
  
He smiled at her and she returned it with a pleasant one of her own. "Where have you been?" He asked, sitting up with renewed vigor.  
  
She crawled into his lap and faced him, settling a creamy thigh on either side of him. "I have to dwell in not so pleasant accommodations when the sun blooms." She toyed with his short hair. "There's a little graveyard hidden in a thick forest in Florence. There's a small underground haven for vampires if we ever need it."  
  
"You could stay here with me," Scott suggested, clasping his hands behind her back. She shook her head and scanned his suite with veteran eyes.  
  
"No, I couldn't. Even here too much sunlight invades the walls." She turned back at him. "You're lucky, lover. Until you fully join the Guild, you can withstand the malevolent suns rays of scorching light. They only bother you, or make you nauseous," she pause and shook her head again, sadly, "but us- they kill us on contact." A chill stabbed through her back as she recalled the horrifying screams of Belle and Jean-Luc as the sun feasted upon their sensitive flesh.   
  
"What's the matter?"  
  
"Nothing," she grinned and kissed him, slipping her tongue past his lips and dueling with his own for a wonderful moment. "Alright," she said, breaking away and standing. She twisted her hair and pulled it behind her until it rested in a red rope against her back, and lowered her garment from across her shoulder, revealing her pale neck.  
  
"No," Scott tore his eyes from the tantalizing sight of her bare skin. "I refuse to drink from you anymore. It almost killed you last night."  
  
Jean exhaled deeply and sat beside him, skin still peeking through the folds of her dress. Scott swallowed hard. He ached for it; his throat ran parched. "Scott, we went through this last night, too."  
  
"Why! Why can't I just drink from another? I'll buy a prostitute!"   
  
Jean leaned into him and he fell silent. "No. That means your body would be harboring three bloods, and your immune system couldn't handle it. It would kill you, to be sure." She tore a scrap from her dress, framing a patch of her neck with torn, dwindling threads. Scott gazed at it ravenously. "Now drink, you stubborn fool." She smiled.   
  
Scott dipped his head and Jean felt his lips rest on her collarbone. He kissed it slowly, adorning her neck with long, bittersweet kisses.   
  
"Bite," she whispered, swept away in the pure bliss. Her hands clenched his hair. "Bite," she repeated. She waited for his painful intrusion. It never came. She pulled him away to see his eyes. "Bite, damn you!"  
  
"No," he mumbled and neared her again for another full kiss.  
  
"Why?" She breathed against his mouth.  
  
"I can't hurt you." He said simply, and resumed his fervent kisses. She nearly cried for the love and hate of it all.  
  
He wouldn't feed off her, so she gave him her body for other purposes. She made love to him slowly and sweetly, careful at first not to tempt him with the sight of too much flesh, but Scott would have nothing of it. He shed her dress from her and insisted she be naked. "I want to marvel at your overwhelming beauty." He had said. Jean rewarded him wonderfully for that.  
  
As they lied in bed later, she nestled in his embrace, bare skin to bare skin, she commended him for his amazing willpower. He was truly a wonderful man. She asked if he wanted to walk through the nighttime streets with her, but he politely said he'd rather just lay with her until the cruel sun threatened to take her from him. He too had acquired an innate sense of the approaching sunrise, finding it delightfully queer every time the sensation buzzed through him.   
  
Jean kissed him good-bye, a chaste kiss on the lips that meant more to Jean than Scott, her having not experienced anything chaste in a great long while. Her walk home was far less pleasant, though. She decided indefinitely that Scott's reason for staying in the entire night was because he was growing weak. He was dying, and the fact that he refused to drink from her anymore was a problem indeed.   
  
"Something wrong, love?" A fellow Gypsy man inquired, a similar woman on his right arm. Jean's pretty features melted into a smile and she assured them she was fine. They nodded and moved along, bidding her a goodnight and may the moon protect her.  
  
Jean thanked them and watched them for an extra second- so in love. She was profoundly happy for them.  
  
She returned to her thoughts but all was suddenly decided for her. She could always return her pleas to Remy, but they fell on deaf ears. He wouldn't hear of it. Jean pursed her lips at that. All of their endless years together, triumph and loss, and he deserted her now. Now, of all times.  
  
But it'd become clear to the Gypsy redheaded vampire. Remy wouldn't help her, fine. She'd go the man she knew would.   
  
Jean's bare feet padded on the cement, her dirty, pale green frock whirling around her shins.   
  
She rushed into the arms of Satan.  
  
  
  
  
AUTHORS NOTES:  
In case anyone's forgotten, I don't own these characters. Marvel does. Yea, I didn't think you had, but you can never be too sure. 


	7. An Angel's Initiation

SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT!!!!!!!!!  
REVIEW, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"So?" Jean asked Jason's back.  
  
"I'm thinking, woman." He threw over his shoulder. He finished pouring his brandy and set the bottle down with the crisp clank of glass against glass. He sipped slowly. Jean watched the beast in morbid fascination. "If I grant you this favor from the deep benevolence of my heart, you must grant me a favor in return." He turned to regard her now, his eyes crawling over her and silently whispering lewd nothings in her ear.   
  
Jean shifted her weight and finally let out a disgusted sigh, walking past him to make her own drink. "And one more thing," he continued, swaying his glass around to swirl the amber liquid. "If I save his pitiable life and turn the wretched worm into something greater than man, I never want to see him again."  
  
Jean bore into his soulless muddy brown eyes, peppered with golden specks. "What do you mean?"  
  
"You know what I mean. He'll live, but not in Italy. Get him the hell out of here; I never want to see that man again." Jean opened her mouth but he interrupted. "And you stay."   
  
"No." She breathed.   
  
"Yes. I transform him, he takes off, you return to the Guild and no one's the wiser, namely Remy."  
  
She clenched her teeth. "And you call Scott spineless." She sneered, approaching an open window and staring out across the fields at the moon-swallowed sky.   
  
"You know," Jean suppressed the urge to jump at the sound of his voice next to her ear. She hadn't heard him approach. "While you're deciding, remember this. Be thankful it's YOU I am asking for. I'd much rather prefer the beautiful maiden Remy holds by his side rather than a filthy, soiled whore like yourself." She shuddered. His voice became a low purr that echoed through her ears and churned her gut. "Virgins scream louder."  
  
Jean spun to face him; he did not retreat. Instead he stood planted only millimeters from her, glaring down at her with a smirk of thrilling dominance flashing through his eyes. "You're evil," she whispered, her eyes wide in horror.   
  
"You refuse my offer?"  
  
"No, I'll do it." She swallowed hard and clenched her eyelids.  
  
His face melted into a warm smile.  
  
**  
  
Remy strolled the hallways of his mansion, Rebecca on his arm. He pointed out certain columns, painting, or furniture and specified their year or value.  
  
"You don't have to do all this, Remy. Ah'm not in love with your money, or this mansion." She smiled up at him.   
  
He shrugged and grinned despite himself. He was at a loss for response so he met her peach lips with his instead.  
  
**  
  
Jason pulled Jean close against his body, inhaling the perfume of her hair and kissing her temples, ear, and neck. "I've wanted this for quite some time." He says in that cool, detached tone of his. Jean only bit her bottom lip until it broke, only to heal immediately.  
  
Her hands rested on his shoulder blades, stationary as he nibbled and kissed. Every caress was another stain on her soul, making her evermore the dirty whore Jason claimed she was. But at least it was her. And not Rebecca.   
  
His breathing became haggard against her chest and his hands roamed mercilessly across her back.  
  
**  
  
Remy paused in his engagement with Rebecca, parting their lips and cocking his head. That smell. It was overpowering. He turned to the doors down the hall: Jason' chambers. Behind them the stench of lust and an evil deed permeated. Remy gently squeezed Rebecca's supple hips and strode to the doors.  
  
**  
  
Jason ran dirty fingers through her scarlet tresses that dangled long across almost the full length of her back. Jean wondered if this was how he treated every victim: virgin, wife, and whore alike. He breathed her name and Jean almost fell into tortured pieces at his feet. This was wrong beyond imagination. She questioned why he didn't just seduce her with hypnosis or one of the other evil works he was capable of. But she knew why. He wanted it to be miserable for her- wanted her to cringe when he entered her, be conscious when he spilled inside of her, wanted her to cry bitter, salty tears when he left her, and wanted her to beg when he continued through the night. Jean was sure of one thing. She wouldn't cry for the bastard, and she sure as hell would not beg.  
  
Just as Jean's head settled into the downy pillow after Jason guided her across the length of his gold sheets, the doors flung open. Remy stood, arms outstretched, Rebecca peeking behind him.  
  
Jason bolted to a standing position and chuckled humorlessly. "Yes master."  
  
Jean slowly propped herself up in Jason's bed, taking a small sick pleasure in the look of shock on Remy's face at the sight of his favorite lying with Jason.   
  
Remy's eyes burned into the man. "What's going on?"  
  
Jason shrugged. "Surely you can see for yourself, Remy. There is nothing wrong with enjoying life's small moments of ecstasy now is there? And I can think of nothing that would bring me more ecstasy then climaxing on top of this woman," and at the same time slitting her throat, he added silently. "Well, almost nothing," his eyes briefly pinpointed Rebecca. She took an unconscious step back as Remy took one forward.   
  
"I see," he said slowly.  
  
"No you don't see, Remy!" Jean cried, rising and crossing to him. "You see nothing! Nothing except what your pretty eyes want to see. You didn't see Kitten's bloody body in the cellar, you don't see the evil rooted in this man's soul," she waved a hand on the direction of Jason. She paused before adding quietly, "You don't see that Scott is dying." She looked up at her creator and he was shocked to find clear tears spilling from her shimmering eyes. "He's dying, Remy," she choked.   
  
He heard Rebecca gasp behind him. She put a delicate hand to her mouth, eyes wide while she shook her head, disbelieving.   
  
"Do you hear me?!" Jean screeched, clawing at his shirt. "The man I love is dying! And you stand there; you do nothing!" She slapped him; he remained stationary. "All these years I've served you, faithfully, earnestly, I've never doubted your power or reign. And never, EVER have I asked anything from you, not once." She pounded on his chest. "I ask you now! Now, Remy. Help me! Do this one thing I ask of you!"   
  
He dared not move, for he could not tell her 'no' but that was what it had to be. Only five were allotted, Jean KNEW that. Why was she doing this to him? He absently wished Rebecca wasn't there to witness this.   
  
"Do something!" Jean's hand cracked against his cheek again. "Do something!" She resumed pounding into his chest with her small fists. "Hit me, Remy! Do something. I don't want your privileges do you hear me? I hate you!"  
  
Logan and Robert pried Jean from Remy. She was too exhausted to cling to him with much effort, and so she parted easily, falling back on Logan while he patted her back, consoling her wordlessly.  
  
Remy exhaled a deep breath and turned to regard the accumulated audience. Warren stood behind his Rebecca, looking on with curious eyes. Next to him stood Ororo, defiant and regal as ever. He caught notice of a jet-black pixy mop and a slender shoulder peeking from behind the older woman. Jubilation, Remy decided her name was. Logan and Robert had no doubt heard the commotion and intervened. Jason watched from the edge of his bed, sipping his drink.  
  
The head vampire straightened and tugged his shirt, smoothing its crinkles to no avail. Logan stared at Remy over Jean's face buried in his chest, sobbing.   
  
Remy locked eyes with Jason and jabbed his index finger at him. "Don't you dare even think about creating that man, understand?" And with that, Remy took Rebecca's arm and left.  
  
**  
  
"Logan, what was that all about?" Jubilation later asked the vampire in his room after adding wood to his fireplace.   
  
Logan lifted his head from his pillow. The young girl had intruded upon his slumber. "What was what all about?" He asked swiping at his bleary eyes.  
  
"You know," she shrugged her small shoulders. "With Jean and Remy."  
  
He sat up and she stood at the foot of his bed. Sighing, he decided to let the kid in. Someone would tell her- might as well be Logan. He'd taken a sort of liking to the youngest Guild member, particularly after Kitten died. "The worst thing imaginable for one of us has happened to Red." He lit a cigar he'd retrieved form his bedside. "She's fallen for a mortal. It's hell."  
  
"Why is it hell?"  
  
"She has to watch him die. It ain't pretty, seein' that happen."  
  
Jubilation nodded but Logan knew she hadn't grasped the entire import of the situation. Logan had, though. And it wasn't the first time he watched his friend suffer this way. Jean had fallen in love with another mortal some time ago. He recalled the ignorant townspeople catching onto Jean. Her lover, Samuel Summers, had taken her fall and was ultimately burned at the stake for partaking in devil worship. Red never forgave herself for that and it was amazing she'd found love again at all, seeing how she swore she'd never put her heart at risk like that again.   
  
But that was way back when Henry VIII was ruling things.  
  
**  
  
Down in the mansion's cellar, candles flickered dimly, enhancing the black shadows waltzing across the stony walls. The entire guild had gathered for Warren's initiation. Finally, the Circle would be stable again. Many were relieved.   
  
Scott was too weak to even speak, let alone indulge in a night of ecstasy with the woman he loved, so Jean was able to make an appearance at the grand event, though her mind dwelled in the apartment room with her lover, not in the dark recesses of the Guild Mansion. She slinked into the shadows and watched with disinterested eyes as Warren was led into a circle constructed by a thin line of salt. Warren stood with courageous, upright shoulders and a proud tilt of the chin.   
  
Jean smiled inwardly. The poor man was fooling no one; they all sensed the radiating terror from within him. But fear was good. It meant he was ready, willing, worthy. Her features contorted bitterly at the truth in that last note.  
  
Remy stood in the center of the circle with the inductee, scanning the room with piercing eyes. He was searching for something... someone? Jean looked and immediately realized. Jason was nowhere to be found.   
  
Remy gestured Logan to his side and whispered quickly in his ear. Logan nodded and disappeared in the shadows. All was still until he returned nearly three minutes later, swooping in on wings of air. He approached Remy and shook his head.  
  
Jean's heart pumped violently and her blood rushed through her. She knew; she just knew. Jason was dead.  
  
Jubilation charged in from a twisted corridor, her long dress dragging behind her. Her eyes were wide with terror. "Oh God! Jason is dead. I saw him!"  
  
"What?" Betsy gasped.  
  
"I saw him," the young girl repeated, " he's in his room! Blood everywhere!" She panted and clutched at her small stomach, out of breath.  
  
Remy's eyes pinned Jean to the wall and he hovered in the air, slowly advancing toward her. "Remy," she started in a tiny voice. "I didn't-"   
  
"You couldn't accept it, Jean, I knew you would never accept it! You've always been stubborn like that!" Rebecca tugged his shoulder but it was too late. Jean was immediately tied against a great, gray marble column towering on the outskirts of the cellar.  
  
"Remy, please. This isn't the time!" Rebecca cried.  
  
Remy didn't hear her so consumed was he with the screaming rage drowning him. "But you'll pay, Jean! You will pay! And I'll find your accomplice and make them pay. I swear it. I swear on my blood!"  
  
Emma and Betsy watched on with smoky, sinful eyes. "Tie her to the Pole," Betsy's husky voice came from behind Remy. Emma nodded, a wicked smile curling the tips of her soft pink lips.   
  
"To the Pole." She echoed over Jean's screams and violent thrashings. She wrenched her head fervently and squirmed in her constricting ropes.  
  
Remy shook his head decidedly, his eyes never leaving Jean's. "No, JEAN lives."   
  
Her eyes grew when he stressed her name and her head lolled desperately back and forth. "No," she cried. "No, Remy! It wasn't me. You have to believe me, master." But she knew what was coming before a sound escaped his lips.   
  
"Find him." He said simply. Logan nodded behind him. "Find him, and kill him."  
  
"NO!" Jean resumed her struggles and screamed at Logan's back. "Logan! Logan, please! Have mercy!" Tears flowed freely down her deathly pale cheeks.  
  
Logan left. Ororo followed.  
  
Jean was gagged and the initiation proceeded. The audience was dismal. Pairs of eyes fluttered to her helpless form bleakly, each yearning to free their fellow vampire. Rebecca included.   
  
**  
  
The vampires were more than grateful when the initiation came to a close. Remy led Rebecca to her chambers. She slept in a separate wing until they married. They set the date for some time after Warren's initiation, but now that the Circle was again incomplete, they would have to wait even longer. Remy seethed with impatience.   
  
Rebecca was silent. Never had her heart bled so painfully for another. But the look in Jean's eyes was enough to make her stomach turn in sympathy. She hoped Remy knew how angry she was with the way he handled the entire thing.   
  
He did indeed. Her cold shoulder was hard to go unnoticed, and impossible for a keen immortal such as Remy. It was called regret, and the emotion hadn't pained Remy in almost an entire three centuries. He toyed with the idea of descending the stone steps and freeing his female comrade immediately, but he dismissed the idea. Jean would no doubt flee to Benjamin Scots Summers and prevent his murder.  
  
Remy kissed Rebecca's icy cheek and left her in her room. On his way to his own room, he turned the event over and over in his mind. It had all happened too quickly; he realized the poor way in which he handled the situation and not for the first time in his long life he wished he could go back in time and undo some of the damage.   
  
But he had to remain appearing strong for his Guild, for his bride-to-be. First things were first: discover Jean's accomplice in Jason's murder, for it was a known fact that no woman could kill a male vampire alone. Second: make amends to Jean and help ensure that she's treated with the most possible respect after her lover is killed. Even from Betsy and her new best friend Emma.   
  
Emma opened a fresh batch of disappointment in the head vampire. She was a mistake- a mistake committed by Jason. Remy pondered. Jason had made quite a few mistakes as of late.  
  
**  
  
Jean survived the night, and following day, with little comfort. Since her casket was an entire two stories away, her lingering hours were utterly void of sleep. She spent the seemingly endless minutes fidgeting and wriggling, biting her lip when the ropes cut through her skin, only to heal again and repeat the process in all its wretched entirety. She had grown tired of weeping and was at a point where her veins coursed and her mouth nearly seethed with anger. If Scott was dead, she'd find a way to murder Remy, of that she was sure.   
  
Ororo approached her friend, worry etched into her beautiful features. "Hold still, sister." Her voice dripped with the serenity that was her and she unfastened the binds with nimble fingers. When Jean was free, she rubbed the tender flesh over her wrist. Ororo put her mouth to Jean's ear. "He's in Florence. You know where." And then she was gone, blending with the shadows once more.  
  
Jean flew from the mansion and embraced the night sky. She flew to the tiny graveyard a million miles from anywhere and planted her bare feet outside of the underground tomb. She descended the staircase and her heart leapt at the sight of his resting form stretched atop a tomb. But as soon as the joy invaded her, so did it desert her. He was pale as ash, his pupils were enormous and he lied drenched in his own sweat, shaking. He needed blood- Remy's blood.   
  
She sat next to him and his eyelids fluttered open. He smiled. "I'm dying, angel," he said.  
  
She pressed a finger to his lips. "Shh," she wasn't particularly fond of the pet name 'angel.' Angel was what unsuspecting virgins uttered to her just before they suck in their last lungfuls of breath. But somehow when he said it, it was wonderful.  
  
Jean brushed back locks of cinnamon-colored hair and kissed his brow tenderly. "I was so afraid I'd never see you again."  
  
"Logan came but I didn't beg for mercy. I think that gained me a little respect, I don't know. But then Ororo arrived and I was saved. She pleaded with him to set me free and he didn't look too happy about it, but he just stalked off and through my window. And then he was gone and it was just Ororo and I. She told me she knew a place and I told her I thought I knew the one she was talking about. You told me, remember?" Jean nodded and the corners of her raspberry mouth perked. "Anyways, here I am." He held out two thin arms, which ignited a coughing fit that wracked his weak body and had scarlet flecks spotting his lips.  
  
He soon composed himself, dabbing his mouth with his dirty handkerchief. Jean inhaled the sight for a fleeting second. She vaguely recalled a wealthy Englishman, clad in trim trousers and an amber-colored coat with round, black buttons becoming devastatingly entranced with a Gypsy woman he saw swaying barefoot on his rain-soaked street to the slow, sinful beat of the gold tambourine in her hands. Unquestionably, it was a million years ago for him, but only minutes ago for her. His handkerchief was pure white back then.   
  
"Ororo tells me Jason is dead."  
  
The news echoed through her ears with a hollow bounce. Jason was dead. She saw all the women, young and old, virgin and whore, aware and unconscious, that had been slaughtered by his hands, smiling or sighing, relieved, in their shallow graves, or wherever Jason left their broken bodies. But now he was the one face down in his own immortal, precious blood.  
  
"I didn't kill him," Jean said.  
  
"I know," Scott nodded, grasping her hand and kissing her fingertips.   
  
"Who did?" 


	8. End Part I

KILL ME!   
Okay, the last chapter some of you saw, the one with Rogue and Caleb, was another story I was toying with. I accidentally uploaded it when I shoulda uploaded this chapter. For those of you who don't know what the hell I'm talking about... GOOD! I'm mortified, but hopefully you'll forgive me. (I'm hoping! Gulp.) Here's the one you shoulda seen...  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Again the cellar filled with swarms of Guild members, but this time no one wore the mask of happiness they donned the previous night. Remy had called the assembly only hours ago and now he sat on his stone throne in the center of the basement, the jewels sprinkling the gray marble above his head giving him a similar appearance to an evil Greek god passing judgment on his disobedient people.  
  
Among the crowd, Jean stood stationary, dragged from her spot by Scott in the Florence tomb to the conference by Ororo herself. The look in her master's eyes told Jean the trip was not taken in vain; Remy's eyes promised imperative news.   
  
"As you all well know, a long time member of our Circle has been savagely murdered." Unconsciously, the people parted like the Red Sea, each slowly scattering a step or two back to construct a path leading from Remy to where Jean stood in the direct center of the crowd. The two old friends' eyes locked. "And so that the killer was punished," Remy continued staring in Jean's soulful eyes with large silver moons sitting in them, "I ordered that a man's blood be spilled until his very veins ran dry." He paused and addressed Jean directly. "But I can smell this man's scent all over you and so I am aware that he lives," she stiffened, "and for which I am very grateful."  
  
The crowd couldn't hide a collective gasp. Betsy and Emma's mouths ticked in disgust and blatant jealousy. Remy turned to regard his sea of people. "Fellow wanderers of the night, I called this assembly to confess that I am imperfect, not only do I sin, I mistake. I was wrong in thinking that Jean committed this horrendous act."  
  
"How do you know?" Jean asked, always one to push her luck.  
  
He turned back to her and smiled, charming and promising- he'd never doubt his good friend again. "I'm not really sure. Just before I retired to my coffin last night, I looked at the sky." He held a hand to the crumbling stone ceiling as if it were the night and all her pale glory. "The moon, Jean, your moon, talked to me. She said nothing, but she told me you were innocent."  
  
Rebecca smiled behind Remy and her heart fluttered in her chest. He was so beautiful.   
  
Jean nodded. "Thank you, master... Remy."   
  
"Well if SHE didn't do it, just who the hell do you think did?" Betsy sputtered, then bowed immediately at Remy's cold glare, adding quickly, "master."  
  
A blanket of silence cloaked the room as questioning eyes darted at one another, suddenly suspicious. A vicious murderer among vicious murderers still floated freely.  
  
"Ah did." Eyes went wide and jaws plummeted when Rebecca stepped slowly from behind Remy, the candles' velvety orange shadows painting over the perfect ivory of her shoulders and face.   
  
Remy spun to face her, long locks of russet whipping into his huge, stunned eyes. "You?" He crossed to her and held her shoulders. "Why, Rebecca, why?"  
  
She shrugged from him and held his firm jaw between her hands. "Because, Remy, he was evil! Ah knew, Jean knew, everyone knew. But you, you didn't know. You didn't know because you didn't want to know! Jean is in love with Scott and they deserve to be togethah the way we'll be togethah. It isn't fair to deny her happiness after you've found it yoahself!" She tucked his hair behind his ear. "You see? Ah love you, but Ah couldn't watch your friend by unhappy, and Ah definitely couldn't watch my best friend Scott be unhappy."  
  
Remy clamped his eyelids. When he opened them, blurry was clear. "Find him, and this time, bring him here."  
  
Logan and Warren pivoted and slipped out of the basement. Robert watched them leave but decided to stay.  
  
"I don't understand, you couldn't have done it alone." Remy observed. Rebecca shook her head.   
  
"True, very true. But apparently, findin' help to kill a beast like Jason was none too hard to find." Rebecca glanced to her left and Ororo stepped up to lock arms with Jean.  
  
"I swore his time would come. We must stick together, sister."  
  
Jean nodded, awed and inspired by the goddess' beauty. Jean knew she would burn in hell for her sins, if there were such thing as a God and Satan. Everyone in the Guild was sure to receive grief on Judgment Day. But Jean often pondered if Ororo would be spared. Something shone from inside her that wasn't a dark, amber light, or even a shimmering silver. It was white- pure and unstained as the freshly fallen snow and it radiated from her. Yes, Jean was sure of it. Ororo would not accompany them in Hades, and hopefully not grieve for them in heaven. 'Put in a good word for us, 'Ro,' Jean thought, and then the two men returned.  
  
Scott stumbled between them, his knees barely brushing the dirt floor as he dipped in their grasps, his arm hooked in each of theirs. Jean hoped Remy intended on creating him, for if he didn't, her lover would surely die through the next day. His eyes were glazed a hazy blur over his huge iris's. He was too weak to stand and his collar was soaked in blood he'd no doubt coughed up within the last hours. His lips were ashy white and he wheezed with the effort to keep up with the men.  
  
Jean rushed to kneel beside him, ushering Warren and Logan off. "Oh my God."  
  
"I'm alright." His voice was tremulous. She kissed him.  
  
Remy approached his collapsed body. He was in the center of the Initiation Circle. Fate was, thankfully Jean thought, urging things along tonight. Remy caught Jean's eyes and she slipped from Scott's hold to step out of the circle and stand between Ororo and Rebecca. The three grasped hands- the most desirable women in the world, angels spawned from the black gaping abyss of insensible nothingness.   
  
Remy stood over Scott's sprawled form. "You're what's been causing me all this trouble." He stated simply. Scott peered up at him through half closed lids.   
  
"Your Remy, I presume."   
  
Rebecca's lips twitched into a wry smile; Scott was still the dry Englishman she'd known and loved as a brother.   
  
"I am," Remy responded, suddenly kneeling beside him on the floor.  
  
The Guild watched on breathlessly as Remy sliced open a vein on his wrist. Robert rushed him a goblet lined across the rim with antique jewels. Remy's blood drained into the cup until it was half-full. He tipped the goblet to Summers' lips and his wound healed instantaneously.  
  
When Remy stepped from the circle, Jean replaced his spot by Scott's side, smoothing his hair back as his body became accustomed to Remy's blood becoming laced with his own. She held him close to her chest and kissed his lips between moans to ease his pain.  
  
Remy slipped an arm around Rebecca's slim waist. He looked down at her with dancing eyes. "Finally, we can marry."  
  
She threw her head back and laughed joyously, suddenly very happy. The Guild commenced to smiling and sharing a private laugh with one another. Remy scooped Rebecca in her arms and claimed her mouth with his own. She melted against him and agreed that she could see her forever like this.  
  
And in the center of a circle of salt, a man transformed immediately into an eternal entity with stallion eyes specked with flecks of gold, completing the Guild of Vampires.  
  
END PART I   
  
  
  
READ from Humiliated AUTHOR!  
Okay, guys. This is purely up to you, the wunnerful, wunnerful reviewers. I was originally going to leave this story here, but then an intriguing idea for a second part struck me like lightening and I decided to let you guys decide.   
  
Should I go on with a new plot (and I have a pretty good one already thought up) and also kinda explain the whole "does Rebecca know about Remy killing Cody?" and "what the hell happened to Scott and Rebecca's families back home?" situation.   
  
OR  
  
I could leave it here and add a sequel later on, like some time over the summer maybe, if some of you feel it's run its course and we should just leave it alone for now.  
  
Either way, I'll be working on another story as well (yes, the one some of you caught the chapter to per my inexcusable mistake. But if we decide to continue with Italian Pure, chapters aren't going to be coming any faster. SORRY, I'm horrible, I know, but the plot bunnies for this new story will eat me alive if I don't write for them! EEP! Help!  
  
REVIEW friends; my fate is entirely in your hands. And thank you sooooo much for all the ones I've received so far. You guys rock. 


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